like many posts, i will start this one by saying it *will* be short, because it is *late* and i need to be up *early*.
and like many posts, i likely will not stick to that.
but, God is doing a massive work in my life as of this week, and it is too exciting to at least not try to pen a bit about.
the gamut of emotion i have experienced in the past 24 hours in insane. i can not tell you how much anxiety and un-rest i was feeling this morning. it was heart wrenching beyond the point of tears. it was an apparent move of the Lord to get me to surrender and walk in obedience, even when that obedience did not look like what i anticipated it to.
and as i walked with one foot in front of the other, hands trembling and stomach churning, His strength was perfected in my weakness. in my humility, He was glorified. and in one fell swoop, completely surrounded by His grace and love and mercy, His perfect peace not only covered me, but elevated me to an amount of joy, freedom, and excitement that I have not felt in years. years!
i imagine that one day, i will try on a beautiful white gown, and i will feel such joy and excitement in knowing that this is it. this is the one. this fits exactly as if it were made for me.
but today, in my single-dom, i feel an odd sense of peace in knowing that the way God is moving, the things He is stirring, the ways he is requiring me to walk in obedience and lay things down that looked like they fit, He is giving me such a joy and sense of excitement, knowing that this truly is it; this season fits exactly as if it were made for me.
because, it finally is.
God's releasing me for great things this season. I can't share about them here yet, but ask for your prayers as life is going to look a lot different in the months and years to come.
He has been renovating my heart in major ways in the past month, after spending the past three months being torture by anxiety and obsessing over "the 'right' will of God." i feel as if i've been leading a double-life; not out of shadiness, or trying to hide anything. but rather living 'stuck' in a life and the shell of a person that was no longer alive; verses the crying out of my heart to live how He has created me to be.
In the past month, since my revelatory visit to New Orleans (seriously, revelatory is putting it lightly. God used that trip to practically wreck my life; and I'm thankful for it!), God has revealed to me the things that make me come to life. and in seeing them, i've seen how dead i've become over the past few years. sure, there have been pockets of amazing seasons, namely my times in Haiti being at the top of those lists, but overall, the person He has created my living soul to be has been stifled. In seeing the parts come to life, I've realized how long those parts have been dormant, and I've realized the need to engage them for His kingdom, as well as to embrace my own created being and allow it to flourish.
God is finally granting me strength and vision and opportunity, and He is only beginning this process. I feel like although I will be in the perpetual "what-the-H-am-i-supposed-to-be-doing-with-my-life?" question, that He's given me a lot of clarity on all of that in the past week, and I *almost* feel as if it's all beginning to make sense; that I won't be lost in this sea of wonder forever.
i am so, so, so grateful for His faithfulness. For His peace like a river. For his JOY! Excitement!!! The fact that I can literally stare at things in the face that have TERRIFIED ME to no end, and say "In Jesus name, you have no power/control/strength against me." to walk out confrontation with humility and lowliness and risk disappointment, because i have been granted peace in knowing it is the right thing to do.
i am so, so excited for this season. it's going to be a long one. there's going to be a lot of newness. and a lot of moments and opportunities to become overwhelmed and worried and anxious about days to come. but that just means the Lord has even more of an opportunity to receive the glory as He enables me to walk with boldness, confidence, and a sound mind.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
give it well.
It was late as I drove. Even if it wasn't, I would've been just as exhausted, as life these days in adulthood has seemed awfully fatiguing, fighting for joy and worth (that's another post).
I've been day dreaming about my passions and this invisible life that my heart feels like it should be leading, a lot. I've picked up peace corps literature, googled every NGO under the sun, and even started charting out a silent but huge dream on my heart.
I was thinking about my super-ecclectic group of extremely brilliant and talented friends. Musicians, artists, designers. I feel like everyone has a talent to offer. Something that can sustain them financially, allow them to pursue their work with passion, and afford them the opportunity to use their gift to give back.
My heart wrenched, if it can actually do such a thing. "I have nothing to give," I thought remorsefully. I'm good at several things, but I don't really excel at ONE main thing. I have no staple. There's nothing I can be known for.
Immediately, the Holy Spirit refuted my statement if self-pity. "Oh, yes you do, daughter. You have the most important thing to give. You have Love. It's far more important you give that, give it well, and give it in My name."
I'm not claiming I'm good at it, that I excel at it, or that it even comes naturally. But through Him, in Him, I can do all things as He is the one that allows me strength.
We all have something to give. You were not designed to give the same, generic gift someone else has been designed to give. You are unique, and intimately known by our Creator. Use whatever gifts you possess to bring glory to His name; but do not neglect your capacity to give and show love. It is the most important, unrefined treasure of your heart to be able to produce
"Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins." 1 Peter 4:8
"If I give away all I have, and I deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing." 1 Corinthians 13:3
I've been day dreaming about my passions and this invisible life that my heart feels like it should be leading, a lot. I've picked up peace corps literature, googled every NGO under the sun, and even started charting out a silent but huge dream on my heart.
I was thinking about my super-ecclectic group of extremely brilliant and talented friends. Musicians, artists, designers. I feel like everyone has a talent to offer. Something that can sustain them financially, allow them to pursue their work with passion, and afford them the opportunity to use their gift to give back.
My heart wrenched, if it can actually do such a thing. "I have nothing to give," I thought remorsefully. I'm good at several things, but I don't really excel at ONE main thing. I have no staple. There's nothing I can be known for.
Immediately, the Holy Spirit refuted my statement if self-pity. "Oh, yes you do, daughter. You have the most important thing to give. You have Love. It's far more important you give that, give it well, and give it in My name."
I'm not claiming I'm good at it, that I excel at it, or that it even comes naturally. But through Him, in Him, I can do all things as He is the one that allows me strength.
We all have something to give. You were not designed to give the same, generic gift someone else has been designed to give. You are unique, and intimately known by our Creator. Use whatever gifts you possess to bring glory to His name; but do not neglect your capacity to give and show love. It is the most important, unrefined treasure of your heart to be able to produce
"Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins." 1 Peter 4:8
"If I give away all I have, and I deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing." 1 Corinthians 13:3
Saturday, October 6, 2012
He hasn't focaccia.
I can hear them now, whispering. Trying to pass the blame. Peter! You forgot the sourdough, again! What do you mean, there's no challah?! Didn't anyone grab those seven baskets worth of focaccia back at the shore before we hopped in the boat? You know, Jeezy's not gunna be too pleasey with this one again.
"Watch and beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and the Sadduces."
Umm. Earth to Jesus, come in Jesus. We brought NO BREAD. Not sure you heard that.
"But Jesus, aware of this, said, "o you of little faith, why are you discussing among yourselves the fact that you have no bread? Do you not yet perceive? Do you not remember the loaves for the five thousand, and how many baskets you gathered? Or the seven loaves for the four thousand, and how many baskets you gathered? How is it that you fail to understand that I did not speak of the bread?"
We do it all the time. Or, at least I do. I petition Him with a silly request. I don't have patience, or peace, or resources. He responds with a metaphor, and I say, ummm, Jesus, did you just hear what I said?
Of course he did. He's God. "But Jesus, aware of this..." the text says. Of course he is aware.
But how aware are we of the abundance He's provided in our lack before? When He's overflowed baskets with bread when the multitudes had nothing to eat. When he's taken the small amount we've had, and multiplied it for His glory and our benefit.
I'm reading story after story of Jesus' radical teaching and love, and although He lived it out right before the disciples, miracle after miracle, each one as astounding as the one before it, they were so quick to forget.
He had just probided bread for thousands. And yet, they still remind him they have no bread.
"Do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?" (MAtthew 6:25-26)
Whatever it is you're anxious about-- about not having enough, about not being enough, about not seeing your basic necessities or the resources to even conjur them up-- do not worry. He knows your need before even you do. He will meet it if you look to him instead of your worry.
As I left the coffeehouse when I wrote this out, I felt the Lord smile on me as he melted my heart. I saw three sparrows in the parking lot. Tearing a part a piece of toasted bread on the asphalt. In the most unlikely of places, God provides just what we need.
Aren't we even more valuable than the sparrow of the field?
"Watch and beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and the Sadduces."
Umm. Earth to Jesus, come in Jesus. We brought NO BREAD. Not sure you heard that.
"But Jesus, aware of this, said, "o you of little faith, why are you discussing among yourselves the fact that you have no bread? Do you not yet perceive? Do you not remember the loaves for the five thousand, and how many baskets you gathered? Or the seven loaves for the four thousand, and how many baskets you gathered? How is it that you fail to understand that I did not speak of the bread?"
We do it all the time. Or, at least I do. I petition Him with a silly request. I don't have patience, or peace, or resources. He responds with a metaphor, and I say, ummm, Jesus, did you just hear what I said?
Of course he did. He's God. "But Jesus, aware of this..." the text says. Of course he is aware.
But how aware are we of the abundance He's provided in our lack before? When He's overflowed baskets with bread when the multitudes had nothing to eat. When he's taken the small amount we've had, and multiplied it for His glory and our benefit.
I'm reading story after story of Jesus' radical teaching and love, and although He lived it out right before the disciples, miracle after miracle, each one as astounding as the one before it, they were so quick to forget.
He had just probided bread for thousands. And yet, they still remind him they have no bread.
"Do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?" (MAtthew 6:25-26)
Whatever it is you're anxious about-- about not having enough, about not being enough, about not seeing your basic necessities or the resources to even conjur them up-- do not worry. He knows your need before even you do. He will meet it if you look to him instead of your worry.
As I left the coffeehouse when I wrote this out, I felt the Lord smile on me as he melted my heart. I saw three sparrows in the parking lot. Tearing a part a piece of toasted bread on the asphalt. In the most unlikely of places, God provides just what we need.
Aren't we even more valuable than the sparrow of the field?
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Sebastian
He was interesting, the way he sat there on the bench with his border collie mutt, devouring some sort of local cuisine wrapped in butcher paper. Something about him was mysterious and intriguing, in the way you watch a scene unfold from an artsy, indie movie. The day was chilly for New Orleans weather; overcast and blundry, a nice reprieve from the sticky, muggy humidity yesterday's rain showers left behind.
He watched me as I drifted aimlessly between buildings, searching out unique textures and anti-cliché shots of the French Quarter culture. Meandering around foreign streets by myself is a freeing experience. I find I become a stranger when I enter into new cities; it's only when I began to meet other strangers do I begin to find out who I am myself.
Perhaps that's why it was so easy to talk to him. He called to me, politely and not vulgar, like you'd anticipate from someone that was seemingly-transient and just a couple blocks off Bourbon Street.
Do you like art? he asked; a rather vague question, but with great potential for conversation. I told him I did, and he said he noticed I had been photographing things with intentionality.
So, what sort of things do you like? he inquired. Textures, I told him. I love textures. Things that don't necessarily stand out as beautiful until you seem them alone, in their all-created glory. He told me he liked textures too, and prefers the texture of the sand of the east-bank of the river, the way that it photographs. He sometimes leaves little treasure behind, hoping that others would find beauty in the objects or be inspired (I would later receive a message from Leah that she found one of his poems tacked to a board at a coffeshop in the Quarter; and a quick google search yielded a little peace he left behind on the sidewalk). He dug around in his little messager bag and asked if I would sit so he could share a treasure with me. He handed me a small, coupon-sized booklet with a fake-money, "ticket to hell" cover, which caused me immediately to revert to internalizing small prayers warding off evil spirits, voodoo, etc. but he seemed harmless, and the words typed on each small leaflet of colored paper were soaked in beauty. I flipped through it, careful of its fragility,
Textures, he repeated. I've written something about textures; do you mind if I share it with you? He dug around a bit more in his bag, opening up a large journal I nearly mistook for a Bible. His debit card was free-floating in his bag and nearly slipped through a crack in the bench. Careful! Don't wanna lose that, I said.
It's the least important thing I own, he confessed as he found an entry scribbled down from August in New York. I closed my eyes as he read it; his speech eloquent, saturated with color, and texture, and drenched in the pseudo romance of the moment so that one completely blind would have created a scene so rich in their own head, no visual could compare. I sopped up every word like a world-famous beignet dipped in cafe au lait, both soaked in sweetness.
He asked if I liked words. Oh, absolutely, I responded. He fumbled few a few more pages with the same intentionality of his speech. Im certain even the most stoic, rigid, cold-hearted person would have become like liquid beneath the fluidity of his words. It was true beauty, if beauty is able to be something that lacks a tangible, quantifiable worth. There was no excess in his word choice, each chosen with purpose and weight, more than enough to be illustrative, too few to seem verbose and over-compensatory.
He spoke of peace and tranquility and zen, and said that there was something light and joyful about me, that it exuded from my persona. Yes, my friend, that is Jesus. I didn't say that, although I wish in hindsight that I would've. But it did open me to ask the Spirit to speak and lead.
Somehow there was a segue from art to zen to peace to doing nothing and simply existing. I told him that's what I did this morning, well, sort of. He asked what it was, and I told him I spent the day at a cafe writing and reading my Bible.
Oh, so you're religious? he asked me. I responded with a hesitation with the world religious. Protestant Christian, I responded to answer him formally, a Bible-believing Christian. I believe in the trinity: God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit. And that peace you talk about, it comes from God, from His Holy Spirit. It's a peace that surpasses all understanding. It transcends the circumstances that dictate that moment should be anything but peaceful. Its in those moments that I realize it is His power in me and through me.
He knew what I was talking about, to an extent at least. oh, I just LOVE God. He is so much more than we can put words to. In fact, trying to describe Him, trying to wrap our finite mind around His infinite being does Him an injustice. We limit Him when we try to use our words to describe Him. He's bigger than we will ever understand. I've written something else about Him, if you don't mind I'd like to share it. He flipped right to it. The pages, chock-full of words and poems and thoughts and the crowded clutter of revelation revealed between ink and lines. His words danced amidst the imagery of his poetry once again. He spoke with resolve and wonder and trembling and peace.
Our conversation continued as he asked me if I had ever been in love. Yes, I answered him. I believe I have. He wrote this poem about love a few weeks ago while in New York, before his girlfriend in New Orleans broke it off with him. it was as beautiful as i can remember love to be.
at some point, i asked him his name. Sebastian, he replied. That's the name of my dog! I said back to him, to which he laughed and said he bet my name wasn't Buck Mulligan. I told him my name and we continued to converse until Leah called and tried to make her way to where I was. I asked if he would mind if I could pray with him, and he ever-so-zealously agreed. As he reached out to grab both my hands, he asked what he should do with his eyes; open, close? I told him that God hardly cares about His eyes; its his heart that He's looking at.
I prayed a simple prayer asking the Father for encouragement and favor to be poured down on Sebastian that afternoon. That He would experience His holy presence and fall more in love with Him today. I thanked Him for the divine encounter we had, and for the sweet gift that Jesus is for us. Amen. and Amen.
He kissed my cheek and thanked me with sincere gratitude as i fumbled through my purse. I hadn't much with me, but I did have 5 Haitian Gourdes to exchange as my piece of treasure to leave behind with him. Aside from a kid outside of Deli Mart, i've never seen a person so excited to receive a coin so low in value. but i could tell, the value of the currency was nothing in comparison to the value of the interaction we just had.
with giggles in my heart over the exchange, i joyfully went about my afternoon thankful for my chance encounter with Sebastian. as a Christian, seeing someone that shares the same awe and reverence of our Creator excites me. speaking truth to him, yet in love and not in any way to sow discord or thinking I have the right to speak pretentiously as if I have all the answers, he needs me to pray for him. I find that there is a fine line between loving a person where they are at, and not speaking truth in order to not offend. however, I also believe that once you offend someone in the name of Christ, very little there after will hold much worth to them. maybe Sebastian knows Jesus. maybe I should've asked. but as Christians living in a world that is not our home, we need to make sure we are being light in the darkness, and pointing to Christ when asked where that light is shining from.
Shine your light. You never know how it may brighten someone's day, illuminate someone's path, or reignite the spark in someone's heart.
Sebastian allowed God's light to shine in him whether or not he realized it.
He watched me as I drifted aimlessly between buildings, searching out unique textures and anti-cliché shots of the French Quarter culture. Meandering around foreign streets by myself is a freeing experience. I find I become a stranger when I enter into new cities; it's only when I began to meet other strangers do I begin to find out who I am myself.
Perhaps that's why it was so easy to talk to him. He called to me, politely and not vulgar, like you'd anticipate from someone that was seemingly-transient and just a couple blocks off Bourbon Street.
Do you like art? he asked; a rather vague question, but with great potential for conversation. I told him I did, and he said he noticed I had been photographing things with intentionality.
So, what sort of things do you like? he inquired. Textures, I told him. I love textures. Things that don't necessarily stand out as beautiful until you seem them alone, in their all-created glory. He told me he liked textures too, and prefers the texture of the sand of the east-bank of the river, the way that it photographs. He sometimes leaves little treasure behind, hoping that others would find beauty in the objects or be inspired (I would later receive a message from Leah that she found one of his poems tacked to a board at a coffeshop in the Quarter; and a quick google search yielded a little peace he left behind on the sidewalk). He dug around in his little messager bag and asked if I would sit so he could share a treasure with me. He handed me a small, coupon-sized booklet with a fake-money, "ticket to hell" cover, which caused me immediately to revert to internalizing small prayers warding off evil spirits, voodoo, etc. but he seemed harmless, and the words typed on each small leaflet of colored paper were soaked in beauty. I flipped through it, careful of its fragility,
Textures, he repeated. I've written something about textures; do you mind if I share it with you? He dug around a bit more in his bag, opening up a large journal I nearly mistook for a Bible. His debit card was free-floating in his bag and nearly slipped through a crack in the bench. Careful! Don't wanna lose that, I said.
It's the least important thing I own, he confessed as he found an entry scribbled down from August in New York. I closed my eyes as he read it; his speech eloquent, saturated with color, and texture, and drenched in the pseudo romance of the moment so that one completely blind would have created a scene so rich in their own head, no visual could compare. I sopped up every word like a world-famous beignet dipped in cafe au lait, both soaked in sweetness.
He asked if I liked words. Oh, absolutely, I responded. He fumbled few a few more pages with the same intentionality of his speech. Im certain even the most stoic, rigid, cold-hearted person would have become like liquid beneath the fluidity of his words. It was true beauty, if beauty is able to be something that lacks a tangible, quantifiable worth. There was no excess in his word choice, each chosen with purpose and weight, more than enough to be illustrative, too few to seem verbose and over-compensatory.
He spoke of peace and tranquility and zen, and said that there was something light and joyful about me, that it exuded from my persona. Yes, my friend, that is Jesus. I didn't say that, although I wish in hindsight that I would've. But it did open me to ask the Spirit to speak and lead.
Somehow there was a segue from art to zen to peace to doing nothing and simply existing. I told him that's what I did this morning, well, sort of. He asked what it was, and I told him I spent the day at a cafe writing and reading my Bible.
Oh, so you're religious? he asked me. I responded with a hesitation with the world religious. Protestant Christian, I responded to answer him formally, a Bible-believing Christian. I believe in the trinity: God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit. And that peace you talk about, it comes from God, from His Holy Spirit. It's a peace that surpasses all understanding. It transcends the circumstances that dictate that moment should be anything but peaceful. Its in those moments that I realize it is His power in me and through me.
He knew what I was talking about, to an extent at least. oh, I just LOVE God. He is so much more than we can put words to. In fact, trying to describe Him, trying to wrap our finite mind around His infinite being does Him an injustice. We limit Him when we try to use our words to describe Him. He's bigger than we will ever understand. I've written something else about Him, if you don't mind I'd like to share it. He flipped right to it. The pages, chock-full of words and poems and thoughts and the crowded clutter of revelation revealed between ink and lines. His words danced amidst the imagery of his poetry once again. He spoke with resolve and wonder and trembling and peace.
Our conversation continued as he asked me if I had ever been in love. Yes, I answered him. I believe I have. He wrote this poem about love a few weeks ago while in New York, before his girlfriend in New Orleans broke it off with him. it was as beautiful as i can remember love to be.
at some point, i asked him his name. Sebastian, he replied. That's the name of my dog! I said back to him, to which he laughed and said he bet my name wasn't Buck Mulligan. I told him my name and we continued to converse until Leah called and tried to make her way to where I was. I asked if he would mind if I could pray with him, and he ever-so-zealously agreed. As he reached out to grab both my hands, he asked what he should do with his eyes; open, close? I told him that God hardly cares about His eyes; its his heart that He's looking at.
I prayed a simple prayer asking the Father for encouragement and favor to be poured down on Sebastian that afternoon. That He would experience His holy presence and fall more in love with Him today. I thanked Him for the divine encounter we had, and for the sweet gift that Jesus is for us. Amen. and Amen.
He kissed my cheek and thanked me with sincere gratitude as i fumbled through my purse. I hadn't much with me, but I did have 5 Haitian Gourdes to exchange as my piece of treasure to leave behind with him. Aside from a kid outside of Deli Mart, i've never seen a person so excited to receive a coin so low in value. but i could tell, the value of the currency was nothing in comparison to the value of the interaction we just had.
with giggles in my heart over the exchange, i joyfully went about my afternoon thankful for my chance encounter with Sebastian. as a Christian, seeing someone that shares the same awe and reverence of our Creator excites me. speaking truth to him, yet in love and not in any way to sow discord or thinking I have the right to speak pretentiously as if I have all the answers, he needs me to pray for him. I find that there is a fine line between loving a person where they are at, and not speaking truth in order to not offend. however, I also believe that once you offend someone in the name of Christ, very little there after will hold much worth to them. maybe Sebastian knows Jesus. maybe I should've asked. but as Christians living in a world that is not our home, we need to make sure we are being light in the darkness, and pointing to Christ when asked where that light is shining from.
Shine your light. You never know how it may brighten someone's day, illuminate someone's path, or reignite the spark in someone's heart.
Sebastian allowed God's light to shine in him whether or not he realized it.
Monday, October 1, 2012
It exists.
Jesus, you need to I'd appreciate it if you'd choose a place a little less public to speak to my heart than at a middle table in a busy coffee shop. It's hard to squelch the tears without quenching the Spirit or looking an absolute fool in front of complete strangers.
But as I'm reading through the Gospel of Matthew, and furiously underlining and scribbling personal notes on the text in my journal, the momentum of my heart builds, accumulating a pressure so heavy my heart feels like its about to burst and seep out of my eyes.
It has nothing to do with the Words on the page; the reason for the tears. Or maybe it has everything to do with the Word, I don't know, God's ways are higher and more mysterious than one can discern at times.
But in a sweet little whisper as I surveyed the panoramic scene on the wall of the Old City on the riverbank, He spoke to the deepest part of my heart, addressing a concern that has long caused heavy disappointment within. Among many other things, there's a beautiful duality in this city, a place where southern-charm and hospitality co-exist with the romantic, culture, a decorated history, and street-names with French -eaux suffixes. A beautiful combination of two things I have absolutely cherished since I was running around barefoot in my yard wearing a hooped-skirt Belle dress, dreaming I was a sweet-speeched debutant, while teaching myself simple French since the time I had learned how to read. Suddenly this meld of culture that I never knew existed, revealed its reflection of the unexpressed concerns of my heart. How can a duality between two seemingly different cultures, two polar-opposites, truly exist?
The answer is simple: because of Him. He not only knows our deepest desires, but, in many cases (if not all of them), He's place them there. And simply because He is a creative and loving and provisional God, He can, and will, bring them into existence in a beautiful, outward manifestation of the ironic and complicated and seemingly-impossible combination of our heart's desires.
As so much of my heart longs for foreign soil, and the simply-complicated nomadic, missional life of dirty feet and hungry hearts and bellies, the other half of my heart longs for the domestic, landscaped soil of the stable, traditional family life with dirty diapers and hungry babies. The part of me that doesn't mind living out of a suitcase for months at a time, is also extremely dissatisfied by the claustrophobic space of my tiny closet. The part of me that loves the convenience of one-stop grocery shops, prefers the adventure of open-air markets and the uncertainty of finding each ingredient and negotiating a fair price.
The worry has been that these two lives don't exist in the context of each other, but through the complexity and irony of the sweet and savory city that is New Orleans, the Lord has affirmed that it does exist. He has not given me dreams in my heart of mythical proportions. They are indeed God-sized, and through Him alone, all things are possible.
But as I'm reading through the Gospel of Matthew, and furiously underlining and scribbling personal notes on the text in my journal, the momentum of my heart builds, accumulating a pressure so heavy my heart feels like its about to burst and seep out of my eyes.
It has nothing to do with the Words on the page; the reason for the tears. Or maybe it has everything to do with the Word, I don't know, God's ways are higher and more mysterious than one can discern at times.
But in a sweet little whisper as I surveyed the panoramic scene on the wall of the Old City on the riverbank, He spoke to the deepest part of my heart, addressing a concern that has long caused heavy disappointment within. Among many other things, there's a beautiful duality in this city, a place where southern-charm and hospitality co-exist with the romantic, culture, a decorated history, and street-names with French -eaux suffixes. A beautiful combination of two things I have absolutely cherished since I was running around barefoot in my yard wearing a hooped-skirt Belle dress, dreaming I was a sweet-speeched debutant, while teaching myself simple French since the time I had learned how to read. Suddenly this meld of culture that I never knew existed, revealed its reflection of the unexpressed concerns of my heart. How can a duality between two seemingly different cultures, two polar-opposites, truly exist?
The answer is simple: because of Him. He not only knows our deepest desires, but, in many cases (if not all of them), He's place them there. And simply because He is a creative and loving and provisional God, He can, and will, bring them into existence in a beautiful, outward manifestation of the ironic and complicated and seemingly-impossible combination of our heart's desires.
As so much of my heart longs for foreign soil, and the simply-complicated nomadic, missional life of dirty feet and hungry hearts and bellies, the other half of my heart longs for the domestic, landscaped soil of the stable, traditional family life with dirty diapers and hungry babies. The part of me that doesn't mind living out of a suitcase for months at a time, is also extremely dissatisfied by the claustrophobic space of my tiny closet. The part of me that loves the convenience of one-stop grocery shops, prefers the adventure of open-air markets and the uncertainty of finding each ingredient and negotiating a fair price.
The worry has been that these two lives don't exist in the context of each other, but through the complexity and irony of the sweet and savory city that is New Orleans, the Lord has affirmed that it does exist. He has not given me dreams in my heart of mythical proportions. They are indeed God-sized, and through Him alone, all things are possible.
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