Beautiful Things

Isn’t it perfect knowledge that He makes beautiful things out of us?  

This soil is dirty and a little rocky and today wants to be a little hostile towards any kind of life.  I don’t want to nurture.  I don’t want to be a breeding ground for beautiful things because it means that today I have to be rained on. It means that I’m surrounded by what seems like complete darkness-more dirt.  Today I don’t want to remember that after the rain comes the sun and the happy.

Isn’t it perfect knowledge that He makes beautiful things out of the dust?  Even this dust?

I am selfish and mean and don’t particularly like myself.  I’ve been harsh.  I’ve fallen into sin.  (OK OK that’s no news flash)  I’ve blamed and hurt and metaphorically slapped, pinched, kicked.  And it’s all been aimed at the wrong people.

Isn’t it perfect knowledge that He makes me new?  He is making me new?

Missio Dei and Me

I guess between all of the talk lately in church and in conversations with the people I’m living life with and a lot of confession of sin and renewal of mind, an old flame has been rekindled.  My heart for the broken has been renewed.

In college, I wanted to go to Africa or Guatemala or Mexico or anywhere really that had really hurting and broken people.  I wanted to spend a couple of weeks ministering to people who would eventually minister to me because that’s how mission trips work.  I wanted to take my story of redemption to them, but come back with a story of my own selfishness and brokenness after seeing the humility and joy of these people who live in poverty.

I still want to do that.

But something happened between the time that I stopped caring quite as much (not that the desire ever fully went away) and the time that I was again mindful of the idea of mission.  I think God redefined in me what it meant to make a difference.  My realities changed.

A few weeks ago we were learning about mission and what the Missio Dei is and Stuart said something so eye opening-if only to me.  He said that being impoverished doesn’t mean that you don’t have food, that you live on the streets, or that you can’t afford diapers for your newborn.  While that’s part of it and the most visible form of poverty, it doesn’t make it the most real.

I know lots of wealthy people and so many of them are impoverished because they are lacking something they need.  Their marriage is poor in spirit and in love.  Their relationships with their children are lacking in respect.  Their lives are devoid of any kind of joy or peace, and while maybe you can live a whole life without any of those things, the quality of life is not even on the spectrum of the best possible.

I have family who are warm and fed and watered, but are so empty of Jesus, that life isn’t an option, even as they live.

What if I had the boldness to let Jesus overflow into my work?  What would that look like?  Is it even possible?  Am I in a place with Jesus that He has filled me up so much that there is no other option but for Him to overflow into my job, my family, my relationships with friends and Jamal?

What if instead of looking at Haiti and Africa and Louisiana for reasons to minister, I looked at the poor and the oppressed and the oppressors that live in my radius?

Staying here isn’t for everyone, but I think it’s for me.

Efforts and their Blessings

I have all of these goals, dreams, ambitions, and I constantly wish and wonder at how they could ever be realized. I pursue different outlets hoping that this will be the one that needs my gifts. Unfortunately, though, I only pursue when I think there is something that I can get out of it. Will I be paid for my time and effort? Will I be recognized and thanked relentlessly?

The other morning morning I was talking to someone who could give me everything I’ve ever wanted. The perfect job doing exactly what I want to do, being paid an amount that would provide for all of my needs, in an environment that I would absolutely adore, when the Lord plainly revealed that my efforts will be blessed. Period. In His way, in His time, my efforts will be blessed. He will never give me gifts and ignore them. He will give me a place to use them, but I may not make a paycheck off of doing what I’m best at. I may not get a “Great Job!” every time I want it. My name may not show up when the credits roll. But, I am promised that my efforts will always be blessed.

Shouldn’t that be enough?

It’s a problem…

It’s a problem when I’ve been gone for so long that writing a new blog was difficult because I couldn’t find the link to write a new post. 

I promised myself that I’d write more this year.  I’m not necessarily dead-set on keeping up with my blog (sorry!), but I am dead-set on remembering why I loved writing so much and doing it more often.  I was journaling the other day (my new favorite way of thinking) and realized that while I do love journaling- it’s privacy and intimacy, it’s inability to judge my thoughts and my grammatical errors- I miss knowing that someone out there (maybe) will read what I’ve written, will be able to relate to my notes, will appreciate anything I may have said.  I also like the accountability of writing to the masses- or not so masses.  

I’m still in the process of figuring out what this year will look like, or what I want for it to look like.  Last year I really enjoyed having a list of things I wanted to accomplish, and surprisingly, several of them actually happened or came close to happening.  This year I want the same results.  But I don’t want to make up a massive lists of wishes for things that I’m not really committed to.  I also don’t want to make a list of insignificant duties just to feel accomplished.  I’ll do things that make me better, that make my life better.

So far my list includes:  pay off a couple of chunks of debt and save $2012, begin pursuing a career that I’m excited about-even if that means working in the trenches to get there, or volunteering, or emailing people to beg for a shadowing opportunity, running the Cooper River Bridge Run on March 31 (and preferably finishing the 6.2 miles in less than an hour and 15 minutes), write more, and go, by way of my own effort, 2012 miles- that means walking, running, rowing, biking, hiking.

I’m excited, as always for a fresh start.  That’s probably an annoyingly cliche thing to say and to write about, but it just happened. 

Bring it on.