a Puritan's prayer

A prayer from the Valley of Vision, celebrating Christ. Appropriate. More than appropriate, really. Beautiful.

"The Gift of Gifts"

O Source of all good,

What shall I render to thee for the gift of gifts,

thine own dear Son, begotten, not created,

my redeemer, proxy, surety, substitute,

his self-emptying incomprehensible,

his infinity of love beyond the heart's grasp.

Herein is wonder of wonders:

he came below to raise me above,

was born like me that I might become like him.

Herein is love;

when I cannot rise to him he draws near on wings of grace,

to raise me to himself.

Herein is power;

when Deity and humanity were infinitely apart

he united them in indissoluble unity, the uncreate and the created.

Herein is wisdom;

when I was undone, with no will to return to him,

and no intellect to devise recovery,

he came, God-incarnate, to save me to the uttermost,

as man to die my death,

to shed satisfying blood on my behalf,

to work out a perfect righteousness for me.

O God, take me in spirit to the watchful shepherds, and enlarge my mind;

let me hear good tidings of great joy,

and hearing, believe, rejoice, praise, adore,

my conscience bathed in an ocean of repose,

my eyes uplifted to a reconciled Father;

place me with ox, ass, camel, goat,

to look with them upon my redeemer's face,

and in him account myself delivered from sin;

let me with Simeon clasp the new-born child to my heart,

embrace him with undying faith,

exulting that he is mine and I am his.

In him thou hast given me so much that heaven can give me no more.

"Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world."

remembering

Whenever I come home, my heart aches with all of the memories I have here. Aches in a good way, I mean. The beautiful thing about having known a house, and a land, for twenty three years, is that you begin to feel the life pulsing through it. Your mind is simply absorbed with living history.

Like sitting on the stone hearth of the open fireplace with a good book, entirely too close to the flames, but too consumed with the story to think about moving away. And while doing so, remembering all the times before, when you sat in the exact same spot as a girl, fresh out of the bath with still-wet hair, and your parents telling you to move back because your skin will dry out. And living in the midst of that memory, starting at the creak in the floor, forgetting that your parents consider you too old for that advice now. Except they give it anyways.

Or like walking through the pasture, remembering all its stages of life, and how they seemed to fit perfectly with your own. Remembering the fort your sister and you played in, pretending to be the boxcar children. Remembering riding through the pasture, bareback, living in the midst of a girl's imagination of far off lands and peoples. Remembering taking naps in the tall grass, trusting that the grazing horses were smart enough not to trample you while you dreamed. Remembering the changes in trees, even, and seeing their growth from seeds to pines much taller than people. And recalling the planting of new ones, when the horses were passed and the new tractor was almost Dad's toy.

Or knowing the house itself, every scratch in the paint on the front doors, every creaky spot in the hardwood floors, each window that's harder to open than the rest, each key in the piano that no longer works. (And remembering each missing ivory covering, and every time you popped one off out of frustration, and the ensuing guilt and desperate attempt to hide the obvious...)

Or like remembering all the holidays. The time when your sister baked the annual Thanksgiving pecan pie, but pulled it out of the oven too early. When she held it up to show everyone, and all the filling came out right where the whole pecans formed the smile, making the pie look as though it were regurgitating its own insides. Or all the Christmas Eves that slowly turned into Christmas mornings, playing under the pillows because you couldn't sleep from excitement. And finally being allowed to get up and see what Santa had brought, and, as you grew up a little, bringing coffee in to your parents to wake them up, trying to remember to not to say thank you, because you were still supposed to think Santa had brought all those gifts... And finally, growing up even more, remembering when you and your sister sat up late on Christmas Eve, reading the Christmas story from the Bible, only barely beginning to understand what it really meant. And the introduction of a brother-in-law to all these traditions. And then a niece. And now a nephew.

Memories are such powerful things. I love them. I love thinking about the history even of my small family. I love remembering how I grew up, and I love the possibility that someday, I'll get to share these memories with someone else. I love the history that is contained in this house, this land...this home.

a joyful heart

Well, it has obviously been a while since I was last here...but there is much to tell. And most of it will not be told. (Mainly due to a desire to not write an entire book.)

I am writing this post after long silence simply to exclaim that which has been filling my heart for the past few months: joy. Joy in quietude, joy in abundance. I have, in the past, written of my struggle for joy (see December's post); I thought it was high time to report back with how God has answered my prayers above and beyond what I ever expected.

After moving from Alabama and entering seminary, I must say that I did expect a small measure of joy to return. (After all, while I did come to love Alabama, I've always been a Carolina girl. I've felt that every time I drove over the state line; something about the Carolinas just feels like I've come home, and I'm more myself.) Yet I also had many fears over where I was headed. Fears that moving back would feel like failure. Fears that continuing with RUF wasn't actually where I was called. But mostly, fears regarding seminary.

Mixing faith and academics...what an awesome thought! And indeed, one to be handled very carefully. One of my greatest fears upon entering seminary was that beginning to study one with the other would lead to pride and drought. And I still believe this fear was not unfounded, and something I must guard myself against continuously; many friends who have gone this route before me experienced this themselves, and as I already struggle with pride, I am in no way exempt from this danger. Yet it is not my aim here to explain to you how to avoid this; I'm sure there are ways, but I simply desire to proclaim to you, quite enthusiastically, that God has been incredibly gracious to me. For praise God, he has given me a delight in Him and His Word that I truly don't think I've experienced, to date.

Examples. I was very afraid that learning theology would deaden joy; indeed, believers subscribing to reformed theology seem to be known for their lack of passion. (Sometimes this label is just, and sometimes it is not.) Yet somehow, God has allowed my theology class not to deaden, but to awaken. Truly, the more I learn, the more my love of God, my delight in God, my awe of God, my humility before God, and my trust in God...it has all been delightfully deepened! And I never would have expected it. A few weeks ago, driving home from the women's retreat, I was moved to tears over the thought of the Gospel, and God's plan of salvation for his people, spread over the ages. For the first time in my life (to my shame). And I promise, I am not writing any of this to seem "super spiritual;" anyone who knows me knows well both my detestation of anything overly sentimental as well as my distrust of emotions in general.

Yet there is truth in these things, and emotions do not make the truth false. There needs be a balance between mind, will, and emotions, and I have always been lacking in the emotions section. As God has graciously begun to alter this, I cannot but show that he has indeed done so. How God has overcome my personality and my failings, blessed me abundantly, and made Himself irresistible to me. To show how good he has been.

Of course life is still hard sometimes. Of course there have also been trials. And of course I have been dramatic about them, always giving them more weight than they deserve. But I cannot tell you how joyful I am, even in the trials, even in the tears. I truly delight in what I'm doing, because God is drawing me nearer to him through all of it.

"Israel's strength and consolation,

Hope of all the earth thou art;

Dear desire of every nation,

Joy of every longing heart."

**This post really would make a lot more sense if you read December's post.

prodigal listener-addendum

A point I'd like to clarify: When I said that it was the older brother's responsibility to go out and find his brother, it should be stated that this responsibility's source is the Bible, not culture. I don't know if that was a cultural standard or not, but Keller was the one to point out this responsibility to me (indirectly, of course). He referenced the story of Cain and Abel in Genesis, and God's telling Cain that he is indeed his brother's keeper.

This is also the implication that Christ makes when telling these parables; the prodigal parable is the last of three. The first two involved something getting lost, and someone going out to find it. The lack of searching for the lost thing in the third parable is supposed to be glaringly obvious, and point us to Christ, the one who searches for His lost things [...us].

a prodigal listener

Campy? Yes. Still true? Yup. Let me explain.

In the past few months, the parable of the prodigal [entities]* has surfaced in my life an inordinate amount of times.

[Author's note: At first, I paused after finishing that last sentence, thinking, perhaps 'inordinate' is inappropriate here. The actual number of times I am referring to is small, in terms of the number line. So being the nerd that I am, I looked up the definition of 'inordinate' and realized the term is more appropriate than I realized. The very first definition listed is the following: Not within proper or reasonable limits; immoderate; excessive. ...Which completely describes my attitude to all the times I've heard the parable recently. Which you will understand, if I will just get back to my post...]

It seems that every time I hear a sermon or series on the prodigal [entities], I think, I've heard this parable a million times. I think I get it. At least the basic gist; I mean, I'm sure there are things I don't know about it. But the application of it...got it. Check. Can we just move on? Even with the new perspective that seems to currently be permeating PCA circles, much aided by Tim Keller's book Prodigal God, I still have had the attitude of there being only so much you can pull from one parable. (Which is true on some level, but not the point here.)

But this parable keeps coming up. Let's review.

1. A local church (that I do not usually attend, but which supports me with RUF and thus I am aware of their various activities) read through The Prodigal God with small groups, and it was recommended to me as well.
2. Next, the pastor of my church took several weeks to teach through a series on the parable (gathering a lot of material from Keller's book, I believe).
3. The leadership team with RUF (and thus me) took this past semester to read through The Prodigal God.
4. The parable was the topic of a random sermon a friend showed me (via YouTube) one weekend.
5. The very next day, it was mentioned in the sermon at the church we attended.
6. One or two more mentions after that, of which I cannot recall the particulars.

Finally, I had to admit that maybe God was trying to tell me something. But it took me a while to realize what that was.

Despite my protestations, I actually was learning something new each time. But it was always something small, something that never quite shook my prideful belief that I'd been confronted with every application of the parable. i.e. The older brother was just as lost as the younger brother--while I'd never expressly heard that before, my past involves a strong struggle with legalism, and I'd always kind of related to him. Etc.

But with every discussion of the parable, there's always been one nagging question for me that no one had ever really addressed. And I always thought, Well it's not really the point of the parable, it doesn't really matter, and you mostly ask that because you ARE the older brother and want to justify his actions and frustrations. The parable says the older brother "was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on." (vs. 25-26) And my question has always been this: Why didn't the older brother know about the return of his younger brother, and the subsequent party?

I've had two possible solutions to this, but I have never been settled with either.

1. Perhaps he was being deceitful when he asked the servant what was going on; perhaps he did in fact know about the party, but was being passive-aggressive about being left out and pretended not to know. --But the Scriptures don't seem to claim that he's lying about knowing, so I'm more inclined to believe that he legitimately didn't know.
2. If he was indeed in the field and too far away to know about it; why didn't anyone come find him and tell him? If the father truly was excited enough about the return of his younger son to throw a humongous party for him, why didn't he either run out to tell his other son, or send a servant to share the good news?

Why was he left out? Doesn't that slightly legitimize the frustration of the older son?

In a four-part revelation, via two friends, Keller's book, and my own ruminations, God answered that query. And it was pretty much mind-blowing.

Most of us who are familiar with this parable are also familiar with a few of the nuances of Jesus' time that affect the parable's application. For example, when the younger son asks for his share of the inheritance, that's not comparable to the same situation happening today; rather, the younger son was telling his father he considered him as dead and wanted to live accordingly. But one particular nuance completely changed the parable for me, and that is this: When the younger son ran from home with his share of the family estate, there was a protocol for how the situation was to be treated. The father was to in turn act as if the son was dead. But there's more. There was a particular person in the household whose responsibility it was to go and find him, bring him back, and entreat the father to reinstate him. Guess who that was?

The older brother.

And what I realized, via my own convoluted path, was that the son's not knowing about the party was not the father's failure to complete the family celebration, fight for unity, and include his older son. No, it was the older son's failure to do his job, look for his brother, fight for the family unity, and bring his brother home. He should never have been in the fields. He should never have come upon the house after his day's work and not known his brother was home. He should have been the one to bring his brother home.

What makes this particular realization especially significant is the application of this thought: Yes, the father's unexpected response shows God the Father's goodness and grace of receiving His lost children. But also...the older brother's failure points to the True Older Brother's success. The whole point of this parable is that Christ is telling everyone that He is the true Older Brother!

How humbling. My petty, apparently insignificant question about why the older brother was left out shows my heart and reveals that I do not follow Christ's example of searching out my lost brothers and sisters or expect them to come home, but even more so shows that I had completely left Christ out of the parabolic equation. ['Parabolic' as in the adjective form of parable. ...I was a math major; I felt the need to clarify.]

Perhaps to my detriment, my humor at the irony of this process has kept me from despairing over this lesson an inordinate amount; however, there was clearly much more application to be had from the parable I claimed to be so tired of hearing.

**I refer to the parable as 'the parable of the prodigal [entities] because I just don't know what else to call it. According to my pastor, saying 'prodigal son' is insufficient, because both sons were lost. And Tim Keller, in his book title, refers to God as being 'prodigal.' And I can't say 'parable of the prodigal people,' because I can't include God in 'people.' Thus my use of the word 'entities.'

...yes, I am ridiculous. At this point, I think I just need to embrace it.

God IS at work

This past weekend, I have had the privilege of participating in a local missions conference. I am always a little shocked to be reminded that I am a missionary. Yet when I hear the stories of missionaries that have traveled across the globe to un-reached villages or un-churched populations, two things stick out in my mind.

First, working in campus ministry IS missions. No, I don't make the same sorts of sacrifices as those who have moved to third world countries. I am blessed with running hot water, American grocery stores, and the use of the English language. I get to listen to sermons from podcasts through iTunes, and I get to have dance parties to Ke$ha and Miley Cyrus (whether with my girls, or alone with my roommate's cat). But the stories that I hear from those missionaries who HAVE traveled to Papua New Guinea, or Cote d'Ivoire...I can relate. Which is beautiful and bizarre all at the same time. Cultures are different, yes. But humans, down at their core, are the same. And sharing the gospel isn't "one size fits all" even in a particular family, but human fears and barriers to gospel, down at their root, are similar.

The second thing that was continuously impressed upon my mind this past weekend was this: God is indeed at work. And that itself is evidenced by the mere fact that I am typing this right now.

You see, what with various events this past weekend, it should have been one of the more difficult times to believe that very truth. Yet that specific phrase was repeated SO often that I simply couldn't ignore it. Let me show you.

Friday- "God is at work in Huntsvegas." -direct quote from a friend in an e-mail.

Saturday morning- "God is at work." -direct quote from at least three different missionaries.

Saturday evening- "God is at work." -direct quote from even more missionaries.

Sunday morning- "God is at work." -more direct quotes from more missionaries and pastors.

Not only did many people in my life say that specific phrase, but it was also evidenced by stories from the various missionaries I heard throughout the conference, it was evidenced by events in my own life, and it was evidenced by the stories I told when it was my turn to speak Saturday morning about my work with RUF. And thinking through those stories the night before, I was reminded of its truth.

I have seen unbelievable growth in the girls I've met at UAH. I've seen fruits of real heart change, fruits that God was not obligated to show me, but yet in His infinite grace and mercy, He did. I've seen growth in my own life; again, unnecessary for God to show me, but incredibly encouraging. And I've experienced true love and Christian community from my roommates and friends--another gift of grace!

As I continue to face difficult situations both in my own life and the lives of those around me, and more to the point, as I face my own incredible inadequacy for the work of missions, I have been encouraged by the reminder that God IS at work. He doesn't need me to accomplish His purpose, but He delights to use me anyways. I don't have the unselfishness, the wisdom, or the love of God and others to do ministry, but God delights to use me anyways.

What a beautiful and humbling thing! To know that despite our sin and failure, despite our attitudes, despite our circumstances, and despite persecution and every attempt of the Devil to thwart Him, God IS AT WORK!

bedspreads, literature, rap and the gospel

The pastor at church this morning talked about a pregnant bedspread. He drew a metaphor between a child cleaning his room by shoving everything under the bed and calling it "clean," desiring expediency and apparent tidiness rather than legitimate cleanliness, and Christians shoving their sin under the proverbial bed in order to appear spiritually clean, both to themselves and to others. You know, the typical southern "I'm fine."

The pastor ended the sermon with the following question: "Would you rather have a perfect room or a perfect Savior?"

Well, first off, I'd more often than not rather have a perfect room. Because if I had a perfect room, I wouldn't need a perfect Savior. And needing a perfect Savior means...well, just that. I am so needy and broken, that I need someone outside of myself to save me. And no one really likes admitting that.

Which relates to a conversation I had with some students recently. We were discussing The Great Divorce by CS Lewis, and we were talking about the reaction of the narrator to the Real People versus the reaction of the ghosts to the Real People. It led to this whole discussion on the attractiveness of the Gospel; how to non-believers, the Gospel is unattractive due to the fact that it requires one to admit that they are broken, they need a perfect Savior, their beds indeed have a whole bunch of chaos shoved up under them, impregnating their bedspreads. The gospel can only be attractive if one sees past the unattractiveness of it being true. Which requires the work of the Holy Spirit.

Which reminds me of the Coldplay song Lost+, featuring Jay-Z. Towards the end, Jay-Z raps, "...see success and its outcome/ See Jesus, see Judas/ See Caesar, see Brutus, see success is like suicide/ Suicide, it's a suicide/ If you succeed, be prepared to be crucified..." Now I don't think Jay-Z's definition of success is the one I'm using here, but the truth of his words is poignant anyways: success is suicide. Granted, in reality the suicide comes first; success is a direct result. Whereas for Jay-Z and Chris Martin, suicide is a result of success.

Which brings me back to the bedspread. Nobody wants to have to commit proverbial suicide to achieve success. We don't want to need a Savior. We'd rather have a perfect room. But the problem is, a perfect room isn't possible. And a perfect Savior would be better anyways.

The rap section of Lost+ ends with Jay-Z saying, "And the question is, is to have had and lost/ Better than not having at all?" I don't really think that's the question at all. But that doesn't make the rest of his words any less true. And maybe that's the point.