Steadfastness

Lord, dim my peripheral vision,

So knowing Christ will be my mission.

 

For my eyes on Earth did fasten

And pleasure became my passion.

 

By your Word make an incision

Unify my heart’s division.

 

Remind my soul of its election

Thus renew my weak affection.

 

Then my longing will be Your coming,

No more shame in the race I’m running.

 

And I’ll delight in You, my King,

Who has given me joy to sing.

 

 

 

Grace

9/11

Here we are. We know what happened ten years ago and how it set in motion Earth-shaking events. The past nine years on this day we have all stopped in silence, mentally replaying where we were as the events unfolded.  However this year, ten years later, it has been thrust in our face again, and we have been called to a longer pause and a deeper reflection.

Ten years ago, as a fourth grade girl staring up into the sky scanning for airplanes, I don’t know if I had ever heard of Islam.  I had no familiarity with someone from the Middle East.  This was my first introduction to this people group, even my first good look at them was associated with this event.

And as first experiences do, it shaped my worldview.

From that point, I was uncomfortable seeing them in malls, and an uneasiness gripped my heart as I passed them in airports. A siren of fear, suspicion, dislike.

A siren that signaled the enemy.

But this year is different. Jesus is opening my eyes and changing my heart. This year, remembering 9/11 is not an angry resolve for justice, not a patriotic unity against muslim terrorists.

It is still a mourning of loss and a commendation for courage on that day.  But it is remembering 9/11 while letting the fear and anger and bitterness drain out my heart in repentance.  It is not a desire for reckoning as much as awakening.  The cry Dr. Moore noted of “Someone must pay for this,” is answered this year with “Someone did.”

This year compassion is the cry, for the muslims who need a Savior.  This year forgiveness is the call, forgiveness from sinners who extend the mercy they have received. This year courage is the theme, courage to overcome fear with love and to be willing to reach out a gospel hand to an Islamic world, or a muslim neighbor.

“All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation;”

-2 Corinthians 5:18

Music Memoir

It finally happened. The piano player didn’t show up, it was minutes before the service started, and my mom had already spilled the beans that I could play piano.

I was twelve, and I was scared.

My entrance into music ministry was not an application process. It was the story of when your dad threw you into the pool and shouted for you to swim.

It was thrilling. I loved it despite my trepidation.  Whenever I had to play for Sunday morning, my heart would pound out of my chest in Sunday School. I couldn’t pay attention, though our youth pastor’s wife tried to console me. I was scared of messing up and collapsing.

Mess up I most certainly did, but our drummer wouldn’t let me collapse. I remember one specific Sunday he looked at me directly and said “If you hit a wrong note, just keep going.” That advice caused a turning point. I had to learn to recover.

I can only imagine how patient our music minister was with me.

A brilliant and young seminary student, Michael had rough experiences with piano players at Hopewell. (See first paragraph.) He had to take me, an immature fit-throwing scared child who could barely play. But Michael worked with me and pushed me forward on a trajectory that the Lord had launched me on.

Fast forward to today. The Lord has allowed me to play for the last 7 years. We have a different worship leader now, but the same drummer (Shout out Jack, though you’ll never read this.) My brother plays guitar, and some of my favorite memories have been with him and our music.

Looking back, there were so many Sundays I dreamed of quitting out of frustration. I’ve hid my tears in choir practice, and I’ve slipped out during the sermon to cry. The Lord was sustaining when I was faithless.

It has been one of the most rewarding and joyful events of my adolescence. To be a part of helping a redeemed congregation worship their Savior is a joy I wouldn’t trade for the world. I can’t explain to you how precious it is to me.

So take heart, my reader, if the Lord seems to have thrown you into a pool and you’re sputtering around, struggling just to stay above water. He is a loving Father who works for our good and his glory!  And where we are weak, He is strong.

Truth in the Times

This is my favorite guy to watch on the other side of the fence (along with Ebert, of course).

David Brooks, op-editor for the New York Times, countered some ego-centric messages recent graduates were receiving.

He concludes his article thus:

“The purpose in life is not to find yourself. It’s to lose yourself.”

Please go read it; then please pray for David’s salvation. He’s not far from the kingdom.

Would you like another cup of marriage?

http://www.worldmag.com/articles/18064

Whew, I thought it was just Boyce.

This last semester was my first semester engaging in the conversation on campus.

Why is the guy/girl atmosphere uncomfortable?

I conjecture. I have no right to a representative voice, as I’m merely one in the crowd this article addresses.  When I see issues like this, I want to look for things that have shifted across the board in my generation, compared to the previous ones.

One thing that’s changed is the accessibility to pornography.  Not our sexual drive, mind you. I’m not saying the 16 year old boy now squeals with delight at the picture his great-great grandfather would have necessarily turned from in disgust.

I’m saying that most of our culture- starting in childhood- knows aggressive pornography, when most of our grandparents had to be aggressive to obtain it.

That’s a change.

Another change is the interaction that young men and women have.  Single men and women mingled occasionally. Now college bathrooms are co-ed.

That’s a change.

Please don’t dismiss me for comparing us to the “good ole days.”  Billy Joel was right when he sang the good old days weren’t all that good.  But I am using the same measuring stick you are; awkward means different, different implies comparison, and comparison needs history.  To say the Christian dating scene is distasteful is to say at one time it was tasteful. You can pick when you think that was.

A last thing has also changed, and this time I’m going straight for the females.  We have gained an autonomy of which our foremothers knew nothing.  The indoctrination of feminism within our society’s structure is new.

Women used to move from under the umbrella of their fathers to that of their husbands.  Now that we’ve gotten out from under both, we don’t know where to run from the rain.

In thinking about dating in the Christian context, I want you to take heart, for there is hope. It’s not ruined. Though there’s not a set formula, no potions to pour into the cauldron producing the perfect relationship. Solomon declared he didn’t even understand “the way of a man with a virgin” (Proverbs 30:19). But if Christians will strive to “flee youthful lusts, but follow righteousness, faith, love, and peace with those who call on the Lord from a pure heart,” (2 Tim. 2:22) God can author a remarkable romance. And some pretty normal friendships along the way.

It’s appropriate that Easter’s in spring.

O Lord,

I marvel that thou shouldst become incarnate, be crucified, dead, and buried. The sepulchre calls forth my adoring wonder, for it is empty and thou art risen; The four-fold gospel attests it, the living witnesses prove it, my heart’s experience knows it.

Give me to die with thee that I may rise to new life, for I wish to be as dead and buried to sin, to selfishness, to the world; that I might not hear the voice of the charmer, and might be delivered from his lusts. O Lord, there is much ill about me – crucify it, much flesh within me – mortify it. Purge me from selfishness, the fear of man, the love of approbation, the shame of being thought old-fashioned, the desire to be cultivated or modern. Let me reckon my old life dead because of crucifixion, and never feed it as a living thing.

Grant me to stand with my dying Saviour, to be content to be rejected, to be willing to take up unpopular truths, and to hold fast despised teachings until death. Help me to be resolute and Christ-contained. Never let me wander from the path of obedience to thy will. Strengthen me for the battles ahead. Give me courage for all the trials, and grace for all the joys.

Help me to be a holy, happy person, free from every wrong desire, from everything contrary to thy mind. Grant me more and more of the resurrection life: may it rule me, may I walk in its power, and be strengthened through its influence.

~Crucifixion and Resurrection, Valley of Vision

So teach us to number our days

I was in the middle of a blog. In fact I was almost finished, with a word count approaching 350. It was a blog on heresy in which I would have raised eyebrows, blog hits, and unhelpful discussion.

Now I’m disgusted, and the post is deleted.

I got up from my computer, looked out the window, and thought of heaven.

I thought of when I stand before God and open my arms to show for my time on earth. In that moment I remembered that I don’t want to say “God, look at my blog!” I want to stand before my Savior arms linked with many people. People He saved and sanctified while using an unworthy servant like me.

If that’s my desire, why do I spend the time writing an unedifying piece of work and throwing it to the wind for recognition? Father, forgive me. And grant that I may be involved in your kingdom’s work.

My family (I)

I know from my experience when I see a number next to a blog title I get scared. I don’t want to read THAT much, I think to myself. Well, I’ve sowed my oats and here they’ve come. So do not feel obligated to read it all (I hope it doesn’t run you off entirely.) I have gone through and cut and cut and cut, and the what’s left below is what I didn’t know how to cut.

Home for me has always been contingent on my father’s life as a pastor. I was born in Texas where my father attended Dallas Theological Seminary. When I was small he got his first pastorate in a rural Kentucky town. Our little white house was flanked by a grassy ridge on one side and on the other a cow pasture.  For these nine years we would walk to church, and I still remember the adjustment to driving.

I was raised on that hill in Owensboro. I graduated from kindergarten and tricycles and parent-tied shoes. I retreated into our basement to take care of my baby dolls, and scrambled out the door to play army with Samuel and Matt. I discovered the thrill of reading and was enraptured with biographies of Clara Barton and Michelle Kwan. I fished with my dad, shot basketball with my friends and played volleyball with my sister. I rode my Schwinn to and from church thousands of times, climbed trees and one day biked home with one foot (I wasn’t a very good tree climber). I was also in an accident that almost cost me my life, and I still have the scar. I didn’t have a bedroom and I admit it bothered me considerably. But Dad promised one day I’d have one.

One year everything changed.

I didn’t understand why the air in business meeting grew thick that night. I was ten or eleven, and the dissension went over my head but the tension didn’t. Around that time I often found my dad sitting at the kitchen table listening to recordings of his own sermons for some inexplicable reason.

You must know that my father has always been a man of few words. Yet he is the most faithful man I’ve ever known. He has the strongest character I’ve ever relied on. He has the best wisdom I’ve ever followed. He has the longest patience I’ve ever witnessed, and he has the greatest love for Jesus I’ve ever seen modeled.  During the twilight of this pastorate and the ending of an era in my life, his leadership was never in question. And phone calls started streaming into our tiny parsonage. Hopewell Baptist was on the other end.

It was February of 2003, and my older sister had been commuting to Boyce for a semester and a half, but her heart was fighting to let go of Sugar Grove. One day I had tagged along with her, and we were driving familiar roads of both of my childhood and her adolescence. I had thought up something nice to tell her like “Maybe we won’t move.” She snapped back “Oh, we’re moving.”

That’s when it hit me. We’re leaving.

My father had been the pastor of Hopewell Baptist Church in Louisville, Kentucky for two months, and since we didn’t have a home yet we were staying at Southern Seminary on the weekends. Soon our roots would be finally and wholly uprooted and transplanted to a two-story brick home ten minutes from our new ministry. My entire family got an entirely new life, and I got my bedroom Dad promised me.

Scattered thoughts and Joy in Jesus

I still have a draft from when I was ranting against the epidemic fear of evangelizing, but it will remain unpublished. I love the idea of the boy in Iowa defaulting his wrestling match to a female opponent, but I’d rather you go read Piper lose his literary composure in a March 2009 blog over this exact issue. Said Musa is rescued, Egyptian hype has plateaued, gas is still surging (Don’t complain though. England is bracing for a $9 gallon of gas.), Libya is still rumbling and Obama is still presiding. Rob Bell is trending on Twitter, and his new book has caught the eye and busied the blogs of our evangelical world.

Call it praeteritio but I don’t want to write about any of those things (anymore). John Piper, Justin Taylor, or Drudge Report could easily benefit you more than I can.

Many at Boyce College have been academically required to meditate on Colossians and maintain a journal this semester. Boy, did this assignment shed light on how scattered my devotional life had been lately! It’s been a wonderful blessing that will prove to be a precious part of my syllabus this side of sophomore year.

Colossians is about Jesus, and it’s a model for what we’re supposed to be about. Dr. Lambert likes the term “Christ-centered” over “gospel-centered.” Here is the difference: when you read a biography on Winston Churchill, are you stirred over the biography, or are you stirred over Churchill?  The subtle difference is worth finding.

Friends, Jesus is the one who comes alongside with grace when discipline seems painful. He brings comforts when sovereignty seems cruel. He gives glimpses of his handiwork when circumstances seem chaotic. He reroutes us when we’re about to follow our own destructive desires. He receives our repentance, and He produces fruit when we abide. Jesus is the preeminent one who listens to our prayers and intercedes on our behalf.

This is our God! What a joy to know when the world seems upside down.

On Baptist History and journal entries

The following is a note I had previously written and stashed away.

___________________________________________________________________

My first year at Boyce I commuted.  I fell in love with the school, especially during my second semester.  But I felt disconnected; I would try and fail to be involved.  I would try to get to know people, but see them weeks later and they had an established circle of friends.  I probably drove some people away with my eagerness.  I was desperate for friendship and connection.  I wanted to be involved.

Nearing the end of the school year my friends were resident leaders, ambassadors in training, and fall semester howdy group leaders.  They were excited about spring banquet.  Halls were having parties at the DeKlavon’s house. I wanted to be involved and connected so badly, but I just felt foreign.  I thought about going to Ms. Garnetta, knowing it was too late to sign up, but just asking to help in some way with the new students in the fall.  My heart’s desire was to grow in relationships.

But how was I to do that living thirty minutes away and only having a handful of hours on campus a week?  I was tugged away from my beloved campus due to having a shared vehicle with another commuter.

I got a job at Chick-fil-a in addition to the jobs I had playing and teaching piano.  I crunched numbers and figured out that I could give four hundred dollars a month toward school to be able to live on campus.  It would leave me with about $70 bucks on a good week to live off of, still without a car.  I thought it was close to workable.

I beckoned my father who is a pastor into my room to hear my thoughts.  He sat on my bed and listened; then he brought up the dreaded meal plan.  I got on boycecollege.com and told him the price for room, board, and food.

“I think I could get financial aid.” I weakly offered.

Without responding to that, he quickly crunched the numbers himself. He stood up and before walking out, said with what I made I would have forty bucks a week to pay for insurance and books. That’s obviously not workable.

With a defeated smile he said life’s not fair is it?  My eyes, beading with water, remained on my computer screen.  No it wasn’t. This sure isn’t. I don’t have enough money to live on the campus of the most inexpensive schools I could attend. I didn’t respond.

“But ya know what, God can do amazing things.” he commented at the threshold of my bedroom.  I still did not look up. I was angry and didn’t want him to see me crying.

He walked out but was not satisfied.  He came back for a response.

“Do you believe that?” he asked.

“Yes.” I responded.

“Sometimes.” he said.

“I didn’t say that.” I bit back.  I was mad at him for swooping in and almost cheerfully demolishing my dream.

But he was right, on both fronts.  It’s not possible.  But God does the impossible for His glory.

___________________________________________________________

I found this while searching for a template to use for a Baptist History assignment. I’m now entering my fourth semester at Boyce, and I’m not quite sure when I wrote this. But it’s raw, and I’ve left it as it is despite the tingling in this editor’s fingers.

I want you to see and to know that God does do amazing things.

Recently God has poured out his grace in my life in the form of new and renewed relationships.  Some have required me to be rebuked and to repent; others have required a compassion and forgiveness I’ve never extended before.  And He has blessed me beyond measure at Boyce and granted me the desire of my heart: the joy of fellowship.

But He has done more than that.

He has indeed done exceedingly and abundantly more than I could ask or think.

He has been conforming his servant to Christ.  And I rejoice in that more than I rejoice in friendships I longed for.  This is a work He has begun (surely only He could), and this is a work that He has promised to finish!

Here is my point: I’m not the same person I was when I wrote that.  And it’s not because of a change of circumstance. It’s because of Jesus.

All glory to God!

“And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6

P.S. For those who were wondering, yes, I did put my Baptist History homework on hiatus to write this blog.