The Christmas Post

Sometimes life feels like a promisingly wrapped Christmas package, all done up with pretty paper and twine. But when the sparkles, ribbons, and bows are inevitably ripped away from the package, to our horror, it seems we usually find a large, gnarled lump of coal. The other day I caught myself feeling this way. I was at church. The pastor had just finished a meaningful Christmas homily and each hand in the congregation was linked with another as we sang "Silent Night." Decorations were tastefully placed in the sanctuary and it would appear that "all is calm, all is bright." From the outside, it was nearly a picture-perfect package. But inside I felt the coal grinding down deep in my stomach, frustrations with life weighing me down. My perceived bleak reality seemed to painfully shout and spit in my face. (My apologies for how gloomy this post seems; I promise, it does get better).

But, as frustrating and depressing as those moments at church seemed, it doesn't change the fact that a couple thousand years ago a squealing baby Boy, who was born a bloody mess like every other human child, was bundled in rags and cradled in a feed trough so He could live our [too often] depressing reality. If life gave anyone lemons, I think Jesus could have taken down Minute Maid in a heartbeat. He definitely had the most anyone's ever had. To name just a couple, townsfolk and neighbors thought He was an illegitimate son. Mary must have been sleeping around, they say. For this His whole family was no doubt frowned upon. His brothers didn't believe in Him or support Him, quite the opposite actually. His synagogue family [similar to church family] was no help either. To be honest, I could write a whole book on the relational dysfunction, pressure, and stress Jesus faced in His short life here on earth. Oh, wait. That's already been done.

The first gasps of air His tiny, infant lungs inhaled smelled of hay and manure, human wretchedness and hellish pain. He breathed in our reality from the moment contractions forced Him from Mary's womb. He was bundled up in our normal. And He did this simply to show us that what we think is normal, what we think is reality--pain, death, hurt, failure, struggle, pride, selfishness, fear--isn't reality at all. No matter how loudly the devil shouts that it's true--that life is all those things and that is all it will ever amount to--it's a lie, Jesus says. None of this is normal, only usual. (I know that's a paraphrase of a quote I read somewhere, but for all the presents in the world, I can't remember who said it.)

We're told that when Jesus funneled his Godness down into Mary's womb and became a human fetus, it was the world's darkest point. "The Light appeared when the world’s darkness was deepest" (Education, pg. 74.1). Desperation was off the charts. Life was bleak and the world was a colder than any industrial sized freezer. I could easily imagine some sorry soul--maybe the innkeeper who owned the stable or another lonely Bethlehemite--watching sweet, chubby-cheeked baby Jesus in the first few days after His birth, when Mary and Joseph carried Him around to the temple or to the market. I imagine this stranger watching and thinking, "Another sad life brought into the world. His parents are poor, pitiful peasants. He's going to grow into a young man, eagerly pull the strings and wrapping paper off life, only to discover it to be a bleak, coal-black experience." 

But perhaps this same stranger could somehow see Jesus when He was grown. Maybe he could hear of the many miracles He worked for whole villages of broken people. Maybe he could see His compassion and unconditional love that crossed cultures, races, skin color, social protocol, caste, gender, or any other seemingly insurmountable brick wall humanity created. Perhaps he could see that all these brick walls are really flimsy pieces of cardboard we erect out of pride, selfishness, and fear. And maybe, finally, he could see this volcano of love--Emmanuel: God with us--erupt at the not-so-beautiful, in-fact-very-ugly, lacking-wrapping-paper-ribbons-and-bows cross (I hope I punctuated that sentence properly). Maybe he could see all that and realize that lumps of coal can actually be turned into diamonds. A life black with hurt, disappointment, anger, and sin can be transformed into a sparkling, white diamond.

And maybe, just maybe, you too can see this Baby's story. Perhaps you can open your dusty Bible this Christmas and watch His love unfold. Your hardened heart can be warmed and you'll be willing to let Him transform your life into a diamond that will "shine like the stars forever" (Daniel 12:3 NLT).

Don't Judge

I really resonate with this song. In my job, I've found that it's critically important to tread softly when I work with others. I have no idea what this girl or that boy has been through that has shaped him or her. I can't see the struggles raging underneath his or her tough exterior. And I especially have to be careful with those who seem to have left God behind. Those are the people who usually need my understanding the most. They're really simply making a last ditch effort to fight the pain, feel emotion, and be in control. I pray that I wouldn't look down, judge, condemn, or feel self righteous ever again, but that God would give me eyes to see and hear those who are searching and crying out for the hope that's tucked away in you and me. 

"Does Anybody Hear Her?"

She is running
A hundred miles an hour in the wrong direction
She is trying
But the canyon's ever widening
In the depths of her cold heart
So she sets out on another misadventure just to find
She's another two years older
And she's three more steps behind

Does anybody hear her? Can anybody see?
Or does anybody even knows she's going down today
Under the shadow of our steeple
With all the lost and lonely people
Searching for the hope that's tucked away in you and me
Does anybody hear her? Can anybody see?

She is yearning
For shelter and affection
That she never found at home
She is searching
For a hero to ride in
To ride in and save the day
And in walks her prince charming
And he knows just what to say
Momentary lapse of reason
And she gives herself away

If judgement looms under every steeple
If lofty glances from lofty people
Can't see past her scarlet letter
And we never even met her

He is running
A hundred miles an hour in the wrong direction

All I Want is You

It’s been a long night

As I’ve been sitting here,

It’s hard to hang tight

When morning’s so near

I’m counting each star

For every thought of you

And I watch you breathe,

Waiting for a just a few

Moments of devotion,

The most raw joy and pain

Honest conversation

Prayed in more than just My name

Your heart deep in scripture, finding Love you never knew

Child, all I want this morning is you

You pick up My book,

Putting your time in,

Reciting the prayer,

“Please forgive my sin”

Missing salvation,

I’m invisible to you,

More than a checklist

More than “to-dos”

It’s moments of devotion

The most raw joy and pain

Honest conversation

Prayed in more than just My name

Your heart deep in scripture, finding Love you never knew

Child, all I want this morning is you

The sun travels across the sky

The silver moon glides through the night

You go to church, do everything right

All the while, I’m waiting by

I’m waiting

I’m waiting

I’m waiting

For those moments of devotion

The most raw joy and pain

Honest conversation

Prayed in more than just My name

Your heart deep in scripture, finding Love you never knew

Child, all I want this morning is you

It’s you, it’s you, it’s you

Not fancy prayers or warmed pews

All I want is you

This Moment: Thankful for the Ordinaries

Right now I'm squished into a comfy, olive green arm chair, just far enough into the right side so that my elbow is complaining of the constriction. The students on the couches are fairly decent at staying focused on their homework and the dorm is quiet, which is nice. Sweeping my eyes through the lobby, I can see the decorative journey my friends and I are on to make our dorm look homey for the holidays. The carpet around the coffee table is peppered with tiny white paper bits, evidence of our snowflake creations that are taped to the windows and hung along the upstairs balcony. Our Christmas tree, which is festooned with glowing lights, crimson berries, and frustratingly brittle pieces of popped corn, is growing a chunky moat of colored packages around the bucket it stands in. And of course, I couldn't forget, the colossal cardboard gingerbread house that takes up a bit too much space in the lobby. It's been a pretty ordinary Sunday in December. Typical. Same. Standard. And this is a pretty ordinary moment during study hall. But I guess in a world where life is typically chaotic, tumultuous, and uncontrolled ordinary is something to be thankful for.

What Fifty Squirts Can Teach You

If you could go to the other side of the world and turn back the calendar pages approximately a year and half, you'd find me on a beautiful Javanese beach, bookended by hills covered with jungle greenery. My friends and I had arrived at the turtle sanctuary located near the beach the night before and had the privilege of watching a sea turtle lay her eggs in the sand and bury them by the light of the moon with the crashing of the ocean waves in the background. Now, this morning, we had fifty baby sea turtles that were ready to be released on their own journeys into the wide expanse of the Indian Ocean.

They looked so small and wiggled more than worms. (It's quite pathetic, but when I held them, I kept thinking of Squirt from Finding Nemo.) As we pulled the crawling creatures out of the bucket we were given and watched them scuttle towards the sea, ready to explore life with no plastic boundaries, I remembered thinking that I'd heard something from somewhere that sea turtles come back to the same beach they were born. I recently checked to verify this fact, and I found that it is true (however, it's only the females that come back). It honestly boggles my mind, and the minds of scientists who study sea turtles, to think that something small enough to fit in the palm of my hand can travel the vast expanse of the ocean, grow, learn, change, fight predators, find food, and then navigate her way back to the same beach where she was born.

I think if I'd been one of those tiny turtles I set on the shore, once I got an eyeful of the Indian Ocean with its enormous waves and endless waters that seem to disappear into the horizon, I'd be booking it back to that bucket faster than you can say, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming!" I'd probably need a few appointments with a counselor to help me sort through some anxiety issues and get over the fear of leaving home and my hundred or so brothers and sisters whom I would be very attached to. That's probably why I'm not a turtle.

Although lately, I've been feeling like one, like I've been set on the shore of a humongous ocean and I'm supposed to jump in. However, I'm not sure which way to go and, to be frank, I'm scared and would almost rather crawl back into the bucket. Thinking about the future sometimes (often) tends to make me anxious. Certain thoughts about what I'm going to do with my life will spark in my mind and set me on a depressing hamster wheel thought train that goes faster and faster until I'm exhausted and overwhelmed because I wasn't born with an Allie Wahlman's Life Journey Manual (though I sometimes [often] almost wish I was) and I don't know what I'm doing with my life! *deep breath*

However, if God can show those fifty Squirts where they're supposed to go and what they're supposed to do, if He can show a turtle how to get back to her home beach after thousands and thousands of miles of wandering, then maybe...maybe He can help me find my way.

I'm not speaking from a place of perfect trust and surrender to the Lord (pray for me). I'm speaking from a place of fear of the unknown. I'm not really sure what's going to happen in the next couple of years, whether I'll be at Fountainview or somewhere else. But the memory of fifty sea turtles scuttling across the sand toward something bigger than they've ever dreamed of keeps coming to mind, reminding me I will find my way, as an Andrew Peterson song puts it, I will find my way back home. The same God who guides the turtles through the monstrous waves can and will help me find my way if I stick with Him.

You'll Find Your Way by Andrew Peterson

When I look at you, boy
I can see the road that lies ahead
I can see the love and the sorrow

Bright fields of joy
Dark nights awake in a stormy bed
I want to go with you, but I can’t follow

So keep to the old roads
Keep to the old roads
And you’ll find your way

Your first kiss, your first crush
The first time you know you’re not enough
The first time there’s no one there to hold you

The first time you pack it all up
And drive alone across America
Please remember the words that I told you

Keep to the old roads
Keep to the old roads
And you’ll find your way
You’ll find your way

If love is what you’re looking for
The old roads lead to an open door
And you’ll find your way
You’ll find your way
Back home

And I know you'll be scared when you take up that cross
And I know it'll hurt, 'cause I know what it costs
And I love you so much and it's so hard to watch
But you're gonna grow up and you're gonna get lost
Just go back, go back

Go back, go back to the ancient paths
Lash your heart to the ancient mast
And hold on, boy, whatever you do
To the hope that's taken hold of you
And you'll find your way
You'll find your way
If love is what you’re looking for
The old roads lead to an open door
And you’ll find your way
You’ll find your way
Back home

Do It Yourself

"And many of the Samaritans of that city believed in Him because of the word of the woman who testified....Then [a couple days later] they said to the woman, 'Now we believe, not because of what you said, for we ourselves have heard Him and we know that this is indeed the Christ, the Savior of the world'" (John 4:39, 42 NKJV).

A little over three years ago, he didn't exist; he wasn't even a cute, baby blue thought twinkling in anyone's mind. Now he's a real little boy, toddling around on foot-long legs that grow sturdier by the day. So much has changed in three-ish years. When he was a reddish, wrinkled new born, my sister woke up at all sorts of unearthly hours of the night to nurse him, change his colorfully overflowing diapers, burp him, or just rock him so he could feel Mama close. As time passed and he grew, he learned to hold his head up on his own wobbly neck. Somewhere along the way Catie had to buy bigger diapers. More calendar pages turned and he was crawling around like a little beetle all over the kitchen tile. He could sit in his high chair and "open wide for the airplane!" His menu has now expanded from breast milk and blended fruit to most of what's on the table for Mom and Dad. And today, instead of taking a few steps on legs that are as jiggly as jello, he walks with the confidence fitting a toddling, little boy. 

Obviously, I hope that Gabe will continue to grow stronger and become more confident and mature.  Hopefully, when he's sixteen, he'll be able to go to the bathroom by himself and not need a Cars themed potty to help get him excited and motivated to relieve himself. Hopefully, he'll be able to communicate in full coherent sentences instead of crying or speaking the spotty one or two syllable word. Hopefully, I won't need to sit in front of him and request in a mickey-mouse voice that he "open wide for the choo-choo train." Hopefully, when he's sixteen, he'll be shoveling food into his mouth and filling his proverbial hollow legs. He'll eventually become an intelligent, independent, faithful, godly man who can take care of himself, hopefully. 

The salvational experience of the Samaritans in John 4 parallels the maturing process of a child. Their faith was conceived and birthed through the testimony of the woman at the well. She shared with them the truth she'd discovered, parenting their belief in Jesus. They fed off of her experience. They toddled on their legs of newborn faith in Jesus as the Messiah. But as time ticked and they matured in their experience, they soon found that they no longer were looking to her to find spiritual sustenance, but rather could feed themselves. They went from believing in Jesus because of her personal experience to believing in Jesus because "we ourselves have heard Him and we know that this is indeed the Christ, the Savior of the world" (John 4:42 NKJV). 

I believe it's very important that I grow and mature spiritually, just like my nephew does physically. It's important that I learn to sustain myself and not feed solely off of my family's faith or depend purely on my pastor, maintaining a parasitical piety. I don't want to simply live off someone else's experience. I want my relationship with God to be just that: mine. 

There are some of us who should be able to feed ourselves, but, for some reason, still expect someone to ask us to "open wide for the airplane." Every week we're counting on the sermon to shore up our slumping spirituality. This is totally OK for a fledgling in the faith, but when you're "21," your Gerber food and diaper days should be long gone.

I'm not pointing fingers; though I've had experiences where I know God has revealed Himself to me, I still see an area for growth that's bigger than the Grand Canyon. God is calling each of us to embark on our own journey, guided by personal, daily Bible study and prayer. He's asking us to "call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart. I will be found by you, says the Lord..." (Jeremiah 29:12-14 NKJV). 

I'm now twenty-one. I should brush my teeth myself. I should put on my clothes myself. I should feed my mouth forkfuls of food by myself. There are many things I should do myself.

One of them is believe.

Because I've "heard Him and... know that this is indeed the Christ, the Savior of the world" (John 4:42 NKJV). 

The Problem With Curly Hair

Last night I couldn't sleep. This poem is partially a result of that. Enjoy:)

I'm often tempted when I see

girls with cute, bobbed hair

To chop my own off with some sheers

And match their style and flare

But then I recall this one thought

And it does cause me to weep

Folks would call the petting zoo and say,

"I think we found your sheep!"

The Stars At Lunchtime

The summer evenings here have been so fresh and soothing lately. The soft, gauzy light; the cool air; and setting sun have a way of fading out the stresses and cares that I'm so easily tangled up in. But what I love possibly even more than these balmy July evenings are the stars at night. There have been times when I've gone camping, woken up in the night (or simply stayed up), and it looks like someone shot fireworks all over the sky and froze them in place just as they began to fade away. I love the stars. They truly fill me with awe and wonder.

One night not too long ago, the girls and I decided to sleep outside on the back lawn. My friend Carmen and I laid out our bedding next to each other and once we had gotten settled, watched the sky create a masterpiece above our heads. As the darkness tiptoed into the valley and began to paint the surrounding mountains in silhouettes, the stars began to faintly glimmer. Nervous and shy to expose themselves at first, Carmen and I could have counted them on our fingers. But as the azure twilight slowly deepened to inky blackness, the stars seemed to multiply. It was as if Someone was gently and continuously sprinkling glitter throughout the sky, creating an ever growing canopy of sparkles to sleep under. As I drank in the beauty, breezes from the valley brushing my face, it struck me that these myriads of stars are there all the time. I just can't see them. During the day they're hidden beneath a golden blanket of sunshine.

But they're still there.

The stars aren't unlike the promises in the Bible. When life is giving you those sunshiny days filled with lemonade and water fights, we tend to let the Word of God collect dust. But, to continue with the analogy, darkness can often creep into life and leave us lonely and hurting, and when it does, the countless promises of God shine in their brilliance, filling us with peace and giving us something to cling to.

There are so many objects lessons we can gain from the stars, a person could probably write a small book on them. But there's one that especially stuck out to me that night on the lawn. Many times we don't feel like God is there or we can't sense His love for us. It can seem about as visible as the stars at lunch time. But, just like the stars, He is still there, even if we can't see Him. Nothing moves those burning, luminous lights out of their tracks. And nothing can move God, who is burning with love for us, from His position of persevering watchfulness and intense interest in our lives. He's not always very visible. He could be hidden beneath a layer of crippling, guilt-ridden thoughts; our own wishy-washy emotions; or a suffocating blanket of burdens.

*Photo is from the internet.

But He's still there, whether we see Him or not. Whether we understand Him or not. Whether we feel Him or not. He's still there for you today.

I Like This Song...

In my book, Andy Gullahorn (along with Andrew Peterson) is a lyrical genius. I don't think he has the greatest voice, but his words get me all the time, hook, line, and sinker (or something like that). Check him out at: www.andygullahorn.com

This song particularly is a message I need to hear over and over again. Maybe you needed to hear it too...

He scoped out the market
All the women and kids
With so many distractions
Nobody noticed him
Nobody noticed him
He had a jacket a size too big
A skullcap on his head
And a couple of homemade bombs
He duct taped them to his chest
He taped them to his chest

God loves that guy
God loves that guy

He followed his heart
To a co-worker's bed
He could have salvaged his marriage with kids
But he chose to leave instead
He chose to leave
He thought it was love
But it was just a mirage
So he sits in his idling car
Parked in a closed garage
Inside a closed garage

God loves that guy
God loves that guy

Me on the other hand I can write somebody off
Like the last check for a student loan
I can love when it's convenient
But it's not always convenient
It's not always the easy road
I want to look past the outside to the well-meaning heart
To the good they forgot that they had
Teach me to love, teach me to love
Teach me to love like that

He messed up again
Wanted to disappear
But he can't 'cause he's easy to find
I see him in the mirror
I see him in the mirror

God loves that guy
God loves that guy
Teach me to love, teach me to love
Teach me to love like that
Love like that

Thoughts On Life + Pictures of Besties

I’ve come to realize that acceptance, trust, belonging, and friendship are, aside from salvation and a relationship with God, the most life giving treasures we could ever have. Like cells in the body are microscopic yet impossible to live without, a person can die without the apparently insignificant smile that says, “I like you;” the jokes shared that seem utterly nonsensical but somehow, invisibly, string your hearts together and let you know that you belong; and the late night chats where you spill all the secrets you’ve kept closeted away in the deepest vaults of your heart. These things, that in the moment seem to be a penny’s worth in value, are the winning lottery ticket in life, the million-dollar inheritance.

But you know that feeling of panic that seems to swallow you when you can’t breath, when you're suffocating? I think that’s kind of how it feels when a person is continually rejected, distrusted, and can find no place to belong. It’s like you’re slowly dying. And everyone has experienced that at some point to a greater or lesser degree.

But do you also recall that feeling of utter relief and sheer gratefulness when oxygen fills your lungs like a balloon and you can breath again? That’s what it feels like when someone enjoys spending time with you, so he or she invites you to hang out. That’s what it feels like when you share laughter and tears, secrets and adventures. That’s what it feels like when someone calls you, “friend.”

That’s what it feels like to have life.

God, help me to give life to someone else today.

Deans

Preface: I say these things not simply from a dean's perspective, but also from the perspective of a former student who didn't always understand the rules or the deans. 

The other day I was in a meeting with all the deans when someone shared a thought that I found very profound. This person said he was thinking about his own relationship with God and wondering if he sees God the way the students see deans. This got me to thinking about my own relationship with the Lord and I found the analogy very insightful. However, it isn't perfect because deans are very imperfect people. We make mistakes all the time, or at least I do. But for what it's worth, the illustration made an impression on me.

Sometimes it feel like the students must look up the word 'dean' in a random dictionary and find a description that goes something like this: An invasive alien species seeded on planet earth whose purpose is to make academy life equivalent to that of a concentration camp. Synonyms include: dictator (i.e. Hitler), disciplinarian, and judge. 

Students sometimes feel that the only things deans care about are the rules. We're here to slap down the rod of discipline whenever and wherever we feel like it. Sometimes, when I was a student, it felt like the rules were a straight jacket that was being laced (do straight jackets have laces? I don't think so, but oh well) tighter and tighter. There have been numerous times when I've sat down next to a group of conversing students and then one of them will spout off a comment like, "Oh, watch out. There's a dean here." Or, "Oh, no! I didn't realize a dean was listening!" You'd think I was Santa Claus making out the Naughty and Nice List. Though the comments are almost invariably made as jokes, there is some truth to them.

Now, of course, this isn't the case with all students. There are many that I couldn't place under this description. However, for the ones who can fit the shoe...it can certainly be a frustrating shoe. I want to be friends with them, but run smack into walls of distrust. I want them to understand that it's not all about the rules. I want to help them. I want to see them thrive and grow and be happy. I want to see them in love Jesus. All the same wants and desires my deans had for me when I complained.  

But here's where it becomes even more personal to me. If my frustration sometimes feels like a stopped up bottle of baking soda and vinegar, then God must be Mt. St. Hellen's, primed for eruption. He gave His life for me, grants to me eternity, and wants to be my best Friend and yet, after I've gone through what is too many times a ritualistic devotion, I hardly breathe a word His way. Unless, of course, I need something. Then I'm usually quick to say the sinner's prayer and beg for help, which has its parallels to being a dean as well. A child's imaginary friend would be treated better than how I often treat God. At least the child treats his friend as though he is real. 

I feel like I can relate to God more now. I'm seeing the tiniest flicker, the smallest glimmer of His longing and desire, His burning ache to befriend, know, and help me, but also the frustration of having to hold back because He understands the futility of force. 

Now, like I said, the illustration falls short because deans and staff are sinners, just like everyone else. I've made many mistakes as a dean, just like past deans, whereas God has made no mistakes and has never been selfish. He's always perfectly loving and good. And the point of this article is to simply share how God has shown His deep desire for me and to possibly help others understand His desire for them as well. So I pray two prayers: 1. That God would help me be a better dean, the kind of dean that can break down and dissolve walls of distrust with love, the kind of dean Jesus would be. 2. That I would let Him break down those same walls in my own heart so He can fulfill His desire to have a close friendship with me. 

Tiff and Sarah (For Amaris)

This post is especially for my dear friend Amaris who has been bugging me to put pictures up on my blog again. My friend Tiffany asked me if I could take some pictures of her. I told her I hadn't really been taking pictures for a while, but I could try. We brought my sister Sarah along to make Tiffany smile and to get some shots of them together as well. Hope you enjoy them:)