What Barney Will Teach You About Sharing Your Faith

You know those little kids songs you learn when you’re, well, a kid? Funny how I can remember so many of them now when I’m 21. One of those songs I remember was from Barney (yes, I did love that big, purple dinosaur). The words went something like this: You are special—special, everyone is special, everyone in his or her own way. Admittedly, this can sound really cliché, cheesy, or sometimes even insulting in our culture. But I’ve come to believe it’s true (not because I watched Barney though).

People are beautiful. Each one is unique: a photograph that will never be duplicated, a dance choreographed like no other.

So then, if each one of us is unique, what happens when one unique person has a relationship with another unique person? They form a connection that is just as irreplaceable as the people themselves. Because both people are unique, the combination is even more one-of-a-kind, and each person brings characteristics out of the other that would never be seen or manifested if the relationship had not taken place.

These truths shed an interesting light on my relationship with God. When I enter into a close connection with Jesus, He changes me in a way that no one else can. He makes me into someone I would never otherwise be, never could otherwise be. And, as I begin to get to know Him, I learn about facets of His character know one else would have discovered if I had not known Him. I see and paint a picture of God no one has ever seen before.

This is why it’s vital share our faith with others and that we not forsake the assembling of ourselves together, as the Bible tells us. When you open your heart and share what the Father has been teaching you, when I open my mind and tell my experience, a new color is added to the larger picture of God Christianity is painting for the world.

Columbus, Marco Polo, Lewis and Clark—none of them discovered the entire world by themselves. Each traveled valleys and mountains, sailed oceans and crossed rivers to make their own discoveries in each part of the earth. And the rest of civilization benefits from their exploits. God’s character is comparable to a universe in its vastness and no one person could explore it exhaustively. As we each experience God and feel about and grope after Him, we’ll discover nooks, crannies, and landmarks in His character that we can share with each other. We’ll get to know Him better in a community, each of us with a brush in hand as we paint a more stunning picture of the Father. And with every color contributed by each member of the body, the painting will continually evolve and swell into greater strength, beauty, depth, and truth.

But what if I never take the time to get to know Christ or make sharing Him a priority? Could I be leaving parts of Him buried forever, like beautiful gems hidden deep in the earth? Might God not smile quite that way or laugh just so in heaven simply because I’m not there to bring out that side of Him? What if my distance from God leaves His portrait incomplete?

So I leave you with this: you are unique. You are special. You have something to share with the world that no one else does. Please open your heart and show me the parts of God that I don’t know and that no one may ever know if you don’t paint that picture of Him for the world to see.

Thank you

I wonder what it would be like to be a sailor back in the day when those huge, wooden ships that must have taken Pooh Bear's entire hundred acre wood to build had command of the sea. The kind Jim Hawkins from Muppet Treasure Island sailed on (I don't recommend watching that, by the way). When I imagine myself as a sailor on a large vessel, with billowing sails that look like bedsheets, bound for some foreign land, I think it'd be a pretty tough life. If you want some space for yourself, there's not much place to go. Only so much deck to roam, so much rigging to climb (that's what those rope things are called, right?). If you get into a spat with another sailor, you can't ignore it or hide away. You'd have to deal with it. Oh, and the food. I know what it's like to have food on a bus traveling for a week. But on a ship? With no refrigeration? No grocery stores to get fresh produce if yours goes bad? You're stuck with the sludge you got for months? Yuck.

I also think it would be really easy to feel lost. You're on the same hulk of wood for months at a time and all you can see is nothing but sea. Miles and miles of meaningless, cliche ocean. But the amazing thing is how sailors guided themselves by the stars. They navigated blank horizons by pinpoints of light in a dark sky. I don't know how that works. I know that if someone were to plop me in a boat on the ocean and say, "Find your way back home using the stars to guide you," I don't think I could do it (partially because home is in Colorado). I know the North star is supposed to be like somewhere around the Big Dipper. But is it on the end of the bowl or the end of the handle? Good grief. I would stink at sailing.

Life is kind of like sailing and people, I've found, are kind of like stars in a way. Not in the way that they both release gasses. Not in that they're both prettier when kept at a distance. But in the way that they both can serve as guides. I've found that Providence has often used people to guide me, especially when I feel lost, which is a feeling that seems to cling to me lately.

It really is comforting to have someone there who cares to ask how I'm doing or gives me his or her advice, pointing me in the right direction. I really appreciated when someone told me a week or so ago that if I ever needed advice, I could give them a call, text, email, whatever. And in a world where shallow relationships are as plentiful as pimples on a teenager's face (as my brother-in-law puts it), that meant a lot.

So I just want to say thank you to my friends. Thanks for being genuine and letting me know you care. It really means a lot.

Oh, yeah, if you have someone in your life who's been a "star" for you (yeahhh, I know that's pretty cheesy), just tell him or her thank you for me

Photo credit: my google searches

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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