Lord, we are tired

Lord, we are tired.

We look around and all that we see makes us profoundly weary…

Tear-filled eyes.  Shattered glass.  Screeching sirens.  Shivering bodies.  Harsh words.  Closed doors.  Cold hearts. 

Death, death, and more death.

We long for a day when our newsfeed wouldn’t fill up with stories of yet another massacre.  When pictures of blown-up buildings, dead children, and overcrowded shelters wouldn’t barrage us day after day after day.  When our mornings would be times to be thankful, and not times to be heartbroken and despairing. 

Today is not one of those days, Father. Today, we are hurting.  We are all hurting. 

And we don’t know how to handle that.

We are ashamed, ashamed to admit we are growing used to the violence, numb and silent to its piercing call.  Our only response is “not again”…

We are scared, scared that one day we too will suffer in our own homes.  So we respond by closing our doors and shuttering our windows.  Out of sight, out of mind…

We are angry, angry that people could commit such atrocities and we can’t do a thing to stop them.  We are angry enough to lash out, to hate, to condemn…

We are frustrated, frustrated in ways that keep us from taking deep breathes and finding the compassion in our hearts.  We want answers, we want solutions, and we want them now.  But we don’t get any…

But most of all, we are tired.  Bone weary tired.  The kind of tired that not even our dreams at night can help us escape.  The weight of the world bears heavily on our shoulders and keeps are feet buried in the sand, knees locked and legs shaking, sinking deeper and deeper. 

We can’t hold on much longer.

Lord, we want you to come.  Preferably now, if at all convenient.  We’ve quite suddenly reached the end of our supply of patience.  We’re scraping the bottom of the barrel and coming up dry.  There’s simply not enough to make this all right again… 

Please, come and restore the world before it gets much worse.

Please.

And thank you in advance.

Better yet?

It has come to my attention that many of you are suffering from "seasonal depression". It’s that time every year where not even the promise of hot cocoa and the sound of Christmas music can warm your spirit.  People get sleepy, crabby, and frankly a bit boring.  I blame the heavy grey clouds that loom overhead, the chill of the wind that makes your bones ache, the wet damp feel of everything around you.

So I thought I'd help you all out a bit.

At this very moment, I am quietly rocking away in a beautiful dark wooden chair located in the gazebo at the Nehemiah Center. Surrounding me are green things of all sorts--plants, grass, hanging baskets, trees, and the green coffee mug on the table by my feet. Big fluffy clouds with a hint of grey are moving in, promising a brief shower of rain later this afternoon.  It's lunchtime here and so I am practically here by myself, the only sounds I hear are the birds cooing and singing in the nearby trees, the leaves rustling in the wind, the school bells of the campus next door, and some distant pop music playing in the background. The air here is warm, not hot, with the sun shining down, kissing the earth here and there with its golden light. The shade brings me some relief from the 85 degree weather, but the slight breeze feels even more delightful as it gently caresses my skin and flutters through my hair.

It is peaceful here, like taking a deep breath or snuggling under a warm blanket.

And I can't help but feel happy as I sit here, describing all of this to you.

Now, I’m not writing all of this to make you jealous!  Instead, I hope my words bring you to a place where happiness can fill your heart today. I hope the greyness and dreariness of approaching winter doesn't drag down to its gloomy depths. I hope that you find that cup of hot cocoa and listen to Christmas music and snuggle with a loved one under a big, heavy blanket.

Mmmm, yes, that sounds delightful doesn't it?

I AM with You

I am with you, He says.  In the darkness, in the quiet, in the joy, in the pain—I am there.  I always have been.  You are never alone.

Do you hear His voice?

In these past two weeks, my heart has felt the weight of pain not my own.  I have cried tears of suffering, suffering that I myself did not experience.  It physically hurt me to hear the story of someone I love who endured not months but years of neglect, to hear the pain in that rejection and loneliness.  To hear the story of tragic loss as a mother loses yet another child to the murderous power of the gangs in her neighborhood.  To hear the shaking voice of a man sharing his story of losing 21 members of his family in one day to a landslide, one man among many who lost loved ones that day.  To hear the agony in the voice of a close friend who suffered physical and sexual abuse as a small child from those who were supposed to protect her and love her.  To hear of a young soul who could no longer bear the weight of the world and so tragically cut his own life short.  Story after story after story. 

In those moments, I could do nothing.  I could not comfort them.  I could not bring back their loved ones.  I could not heal them, make their lives whole again, give them peace.  In my completely helplessness, I could do nothing but obey the Spirit and weep with my fellow brothers and sisters.

Do you know what word kept running through my mind as I heard these stories?  Immanuel.  Literally God with us.  I AM WITH YOU, His voice whispered to me.  I AM WITH ALL OF YOU, AS I ALWAYS HAVE BEEN AND ALWAYS WILL BE.

Really, God?  You were there?  In those moments when your children needed you most, you were there?  Where?  You didn’t save them.  You didn’t wipe away their tears.  You didn’t protect them from the rivers of mud, from the gun’s bullet, from the abusive hands.  You didn’t.  So how can you say you were there??

Because He was there, even when we didn’t have the eyes to see Him. 

Every beating, every abandonment, every loss, every death—God felt every single one of those.  In those intense moments of hurting, God hurt too.  That’s what Immanuel means.  Not God by us, not God around us, not God above us or beneath us…  No.  God with us:  “…whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me” (paraphrase of Matt. 25:40).  None of us was ever alone.  Ever.

I don’t know why but this gives me such Hope.  “In Christ we see God suffering – for us. And calling us to share in God’s suffering love for a hurting world. The small and even overpowering pains of our lives are intimately connected with the greater pains of Christ. Our daily sorrows are anchored in a greater sorrow and therefore a larger hope” (Henri Nouwen).   Our suffering ties us not only to God in an unbreakable bond, but also to others around us who are suffering as well.  We are led to lives of great compassion, literally "to suffer with", to seek out the outcast, the hurting, the persecuted, the lonely and to bear their burden with them, recognizing that this is “the way to the truth that we are most ourselves, not when we differ from others, but when we are the same” (Henri Nouwen).  We are called to solidarity, to togetherness, with our brothers and sisters.  We weep with our weeping brethren; we rejoice when they rejoice; we are because they are. 

And we are because HE IS, right here with us.

Small

Have you ever felt how big the world is?  No, not thought.  Felt.  I’m talking about the feeling that you get when you imagine you are just one drop in an ocean, that feeling of immensity, of infinite.  It’s the feeling you get when you look down into an abyss, or up at the stars, or into the eyes of the person you love.   There’s just something hugely indescribable about it, isn’t there?  There comes a moment where you have to pause, look around you, and marvel at how BIG everything is. 

Ok, take a deep breath and come back to normal.  Everything is as it was before.  Now, this time, I want you to feel how small the world is this time.  Think about how easy it is to fly across the ocean.  Think of how many times we’ve visited the moon.  Think about how fast you can hop in your car and drive to the nearest coffee shop.  Think about your loved one whom you Skyped with not moments ago.  I am 3,200 miles away from most of you and yet here we are chatting. 

My mind jumps to all of the people I’ve met in my life, years ago or moments ago, and how suddenly they’ve connected me to places I had never been before, places I never even cared about.  Now, I have friends living in Houston, Abuja, Târgu-Mureș, Mexico City, Cairo and Santo Domingo (and many others!) and those places mean something to me.  I also now care about Sioux Center, Iowa because of all the Dordt people I’ve come to know and love.  I think about my friends spread throughout Central America and Mexico, their pueblos meaningful to me.  I think about my family all around the globe, and how strangely their homes are important to me.  Me, little ol’ me, is connected to places everywhere.

So in my mind, the world is small even though it is big.

This week I had the opportunity to feel just how small the world can be.  I had the privilege of attending the international conference Synergy 2015 in Guatemala City (http://cmtguatemala.org/synergy-2015-realities-opportunities-challenges/).  It was a gathering of men and women from around the world to talk, discuss, dive into and celebrate one thing: God and the City.  Voices that spoke a variety of languages came together to talk and to laugh and to share.  We walked the streets of Guatemala City, experienced the love Guatemalans have for their people, and participated in loving their city with them.  We learned of the pains Guatemalans continue to endure, but we also saw the joy Guatemalans have in the abundance of their beautiful country and their God.  I can’t speak for anyone, but I daresay that we all came away from this conference inspired.

What truly took my breath away during this conference was the diversity of the people gathered there in that conference room, eating meals and drinking coffee together.  Bangladesh, Egypt, Kenya, Nigeria, South Africa, Romania, Korea, Central America, North America—faces from many places.  We prayed in Spanish, English, Creole, and a myriad of other tongues and dialects to the same great God above.  And in that moment, the world didn’t seem so big.  In the hands of God, the world seemed very small indeed. 

Secret to Life

I’m super giddy right now.  Filled right to the brim with energy.  Kind of like champagne that’s been shaken up in a bottle and the cork is stuck.  Why do I feel this way?  I’ve stumbled upon a secret.  The secret to the universe as it were.  I seriously feel like I’ve just unlocked the mystery of this thing we call life.

And before you go on and say “good grief Kelsey, you became a Christian a long time ago”, that’s not what I mean.

It’s much simpler than that.

And it all comes down to this: relationships.

We were created—from dust or a rib bone or however—for relationships.  That’s it.  Period.  Amen.

We weren’t created to learn the alphabet, or to master our times tables, or learn how to swim, or to memorize the Apostle’s Creed.  Forget school, forget college, forget work—those are all just time fillers. 

No, we were made for each other. 

Stop and ponder that a moment… how does this make you feel?  How does it make you feel to be so tied to those around you?  Your very essence important because they too are important?  Not because of anything great you’ve ever accomplished; not because of what great work you do; not because of the spotlight you’ve fashioned for yourself.  But because God created us to be in community, His community.

I learned a new word this week, one that only makes sense if you believe what I just told you.  The word comes from Zulu: Ubuntu.  The concept of Ubuntu can be boiled down to this punchline: I am because you are; you are because I am.

Isn’t that beautiful? 

At the end of life, you are going to look back and be measured not by what you managed to accomplish while here on earth—no you are going to be measured by your love and how you loved others.  That’s it.

And guess what?  We were created for this!  That means that to love is as natural as to breathe.  It isn’t something that can be graded or taught—it’s ingrained in our very DNA.

Unfortunately, society today has made it so hard for us to not only find our identity in love, but to be that love.  Individualism creates barriers between me and you, keeping me from reaching out and loving the person beneath all those layers of self-protection.  Society doesn’t want us to embrace the vulnerable—it wants us to buy insurance plans so we never have to feel vulnerable!

And that is life’s greatest lie.

So I dare you today to love.  I dare you to trust your instincts and reach out to someone.  I dare you to be who God created you to be.

Full

For just a moment, I want you to sit down in a place that’s comfortable to you.  Shut off all distractions, things that will take you away from this very moment—no phones, books, TVs, computers, tablets, nothing.  Now close your eyes and take a deep breath. Feel the air fill your lungs, expanding and contracting as you breathe in deeply.  In... and out... Breathe in again.  Take a moment and pause all your wandering thoughts.  Ask yourself one question: how do I feel?

As I take a deep breath, I feel many things.  Slowly though, I let those cacophonous thoughts and feelings leave me, in their wake something much more centered, calm, and relaxed.  Sadness and pain wander at the periphery of my attention but, at this very moment, I feel tranquil.   

Another word comes to mind: full.  Not full as in I just ate a hearty breakfast.  No, I feel full in the sense of wholeness, peace, Shalom.  Full as in rain and smiles, stars and silence. Full as in immersion and a connectedness to something much bigger than me.  Full as in I am more than I appear to be, that we are more than we appear to be.

These past few weeks, God has given me glimpses of his Fullness, the depths of which are fathomless. He has led me to people and places who have every right to feel broken, abandoned, empty. And yet, jars of clay that they are, God's light pours out of them.  I see a community, crippled by loss, and yet they don't cower in the shadows—they dance in the light. I hold a family in a prayerful embrace and, instead of empty silence, we are filled with the Spirit’s life.  Tears are filled with stories of not only pain, but also of God’s grace.  God’s abundance takes on a whole new form, growing not out of plenty but out of fullness. 

Fullness. Abundance. Life.

These are words my heart so desperately wants to hear right now…  I have witnessed too much loss and death in the past days than I care to think about.  My very heart beats loudly in my ears, an ever constant reminder of my life, and yet also a never-ceasing ironic reminder of those who have lost theirs.  But I find that I cannot stay too long resting in my grief and sorrow… just as I feel broken by loss, I can also feel the rays of God’s hopeful light pouring out of me.  The light, while a testimony to others, speaks to me in a profound way, telling me that God is here with me.  I may feel broken and tired and empty, but the truth is that God has me enveloped in his embrace.  I, we, are never alone.

I’ll close today with a short prayer I heard this week:

We ask that God may grant us peace.

That in our pain we may find comfort,

That in our confusion we may find a measure of understanding,

That in our anger we may find forgiveness,

That in our sorrow we may find hope,

That in the aftermath of fear we may find strength and healing.

We pray this in the name of the Father who is for us, the Son who is with us, and the Spirit who unites us all in the never-ending dance of Love.  Amen.

Go in peace.

The Curse of the Wandering Heart

Have you ever heard of the curse of the Wandering Heart?

Here, gather in closer and let me tell you:

One morning, we wake up and look around us. The world all seems normal... But it doesn't feel normal. For years we have lived our lives peacefully, happily even, in this normal world we know and so, this feeling of otherness comes as quite the surprise. Something is off, and our hearts can feel that.

Now there are two responses to this pull at our heartstrings. The easy response is to ignore it and continue living our lives as we have been, happy and peaceful. It's a life we know well and can easily traverse it. But I tell you, that feeling of otherness will never go away.

The other response, the more dangerous and mysterious one, is to feel the tug on our hearts and let ourselves be pulled to where it desires to go.

And so, as the valiant few, we put one foot in front of the other, wandering to where our hearts pull us.

We look and see and experience and feel the newness of life around us. We explore and dive into the worlds of newness we encounter and, as we do so, we realize something profound in our hearts--our hearts are growing, their depths to an unknown and unmeasurable distance. The new places and people we meet and know carve out their places in our hearts. As our hearts expand and grow and stretch, oftentimes painfully, we realize that our hearts know no bounds. For even as it hurts to fit in all that we come to cherish, we see that there is a space in and around our hearts that can never be filled.

We begin to realize that the world is too big for our hearts, and yet, it is not big enough.

We realize that our hearts deeply crave something otherworldly. Something in this world, yes, but not of it. Something that whispers lovingly to our hearts, calling out to us to seek the eternal source of that whisper.

And so we wander far and wide in a never-ending search for that which will Fill our Hearts.

And that, my dear, is the curse of the Wandering Heart.