I came across this interesting advice in an article about teaching writing and wanted to save it, so I decided to type it in here. Plus, it's a good thing to share.
"If writing a book is impossible, write a chapter.
If writing a chapter is impossible, write a page.
If writing a page is impossible, write a paragraph.
If writing a paragraph is impossible, write a sentence.
If writing a sentence is impossible, write a word and teach yourself everything there is to know about that word and then write another, connected word and see where the connection leads."
-Richard Rhodes (1996)
Monday, November 7, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Bend Low, Get Rich
While catching up on Katie Davis's recent blogs (for more information, check out kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com or amazima.org/), her most recent one really caught my attention. She started the post with these words, "Around here, we live bent low." I immediately thought she was referring to the amount of prayer she and her ministry do, but at the end of the post, I stood corrected.
Katie was instead referring to the servant heart that Christians are called to have. As Christians, we must bend low for others. She used several examples that she had witnessed in her own life: bending low to paint some girls' toenails, bending low to offer a sucker to a homeless man, and bending low to help her daughters and students with math problems. Christians must bend low and get their hands dirty helping others. They must be willing to experience exhaustion and fatigue at the service of others. Sound tiring? Katie Davis had yet another reminder...
"People say, “Don’t you get tired?” and yes, I do. But I’m face to face with Jesus in the dirt, and the more I bend the harder and better and fuller this life gets. And sure, we are tired, but oh we are happy. Because bent down low is where we find fullness of Joy."
What struck me the most from her quote is that she said life gets "harder" the more she bends, but it also gets "better and fuller." How can something so hard be so much more fulfilling? Because bending low is serving God. And serving God is hard work. But ultimately, that hard work will be rewarded with the inheritance of all of God's riches in Heaven. Those riches will add up to quite a bit more than forty hours a week at minimum wage ever will... eternity in Heaven.
Katie was instead referring to the servant heart that Christians are called to have. As Christians, we must bend low for others. She used several examples that she had witnessed in her own life: bending low to paint some girls' toenails, bending low to offer a sucker to a homeless man, and bending low to help her daughters and students with math problems. Christians must bend low and get their hands dirty helping others. They must be willing to experience exhaustion and fatigue at the service of others. Sound tiring? Katie Davis had yet another reminder...
"People say, “Don’t you get tired?” and yes, I do. But I’m face to face with Jesus in the dirt, and the more I bend the harder and better and fuller this life gets. And sure, we are tired, but oh we are happy. Because bent down low is where we find fullness of Joy."
What struck me the most from her quote is that she said life gets "harder" the more she bends, but it also gets "better and fuller." How can something so hard be so much more fulfilling? Because bending low is serving God. And serving God is hard work. But ultimately, that hard work will be rewarded with the inheritance of all of God's riches in Heaven. Those riches will add up to quite a bit more than forty hours a week at minimum wage ever will... eternity in Heaven.
Monday, June 20, 2011
In honor of Father's Day...
Yes, Father's Day was yesterday. My Father's Day gift was a little late to my dad. In fact, I only spent about 15 minutes with him on the special day. So, after failing so miserably on that holiday that will never ever possibly be for me, it's only fitting for a post regarding fathers (and mothers) to be a day late.
I spent most of this weekend in Sioux Falls, staying with the family of a couple Dordt friends. We spent a significant amount of time in suburbia, at Falls Park, driving around the city, and attended a rather large and youthful church on Sunday, so I was able to observe many families interacting. For some reason--maybe because of the upcoming holiday or maybe simply because I will have a family someday--I was very interested in the family dynamics going on around me. I saw parents pushing their children on swings, catching them at the bottom of slides, and chasing them around on the wood chips. I observed a baptism followed by the newborn child's older brothers singing a song of dedication for the ministry of music in the service. I passed by a nursery full of crying infants and rambunctious toddlers. Families and small children were everywhere.
Sometime during these observations, I was reminded of the reality that my family had once looked like these. A mom, a dad, a six-year-old nerdy brunette boy, four-year-old crabby redheaded girl, and a collic-y blonde newborn baby boy once roamed the streets of Hospers. Strollers and bikes with training wheels cruised those cracked sidewalks. And cries, whimpers, arguments, pouts, and plenty of spankings filled a God-centered household. Yes, we were the Janssen clan. I know from stories shared that my brothers and I were a handful. David was a space cadet. He would tend to wander off while spacing off or with a book in hand. I was an energetic, yet attitude-filled child with the flaming orange locks to match my personality. And Jonathan, well, he collic-y from day one, which I'm sure made for a hectic life. The boys became best friends quickly and often left their only sister to play alone with her dolls all afternoon. (It wasn't really as bad as I made that sound.)
Regardless of the memories my parents have told us about, the young family we remember only through pictures and stories still exists today because of love. A love that a Father showed to all of His children through His Son. A love that that same Father showed to the young parents of that family. And a love that those parents were able to model their own love for their mischievous children after.
Yesterday was Father's Day. A day in which every child is supposed to remember his or her father and thank him for the love and support he has given to his children. On Father's Day, my first feelings were that of remorse and regret. Regret for all the pain and difficulty I've given both my parents. Remorse for making them have to struggle to spank me, discipline me, and show the tough love that they're so good at granting. My parents have raised me with a selfless love for almost 21 years. They gave up their carefree, youthful lives to marry and acquire an immense amount of responsibility and commitment through their relationship with one another. They decided to give birth to David, me, and finally, Jonathan, giving even more of their personal, spare time up in order to commit their lives to raising Christian children. Finally, they turned their backs against the world and chose to commit their lives to Christ before they had even met one another, knowing that one day they may both be called to influence their children in the same way.
My parents never gave me everything I wanted. In fact, our upbringing could be considered frugal by many. I am a PK, after all. However, this has never bothered me. My parents were able to give us everything we needed and that is all that mattered. They provided us with a Christian home, full stomachs, clothing, and all the love they had to offer... everything necessary for a life of service to God.
More importantly, though, is the truth that my Heavenly Father has freely given me everything I could never deserve and more.
Two examples of beautiful love left me with my own feelings of love, gratitude, and obedience at the end of Father's Day. Obedience..a feeling that will always need work. Gratitude..for the self-sacrificial commitments. And finally, love..for two parents willing to sacrifice their lives for mine..and for my true Father, the one who did sacrifice His own Son's life for mine..and my parents'.
Lesson learned: The next time I decided to argue with, ignore, or pick a fight with my parents, it is my prayer that my Father's Day feelings are stirred within me once again and that instead, I am able to embrace my God-given parents with the same love that they raised me with.
I spent most of this weekend in Sioux Falls, staying with the family of a couple Dordt friends. We spent a significant amount of time in suburbia, at Falls Park, driving around the city, and attended a rather large and youthful church on Sunday, so I was able to observe many families interacting. For some reason--maybe because of the upcoming holiday or maybe simply because I will have a family someday--I was very interested in the family dynamics going on around me. I saw parents pushing their children on swings, catching them at the bottom of slides, and chasing them around on the wood chips. I observed a baptism followed by the newborn child's older brothers singing a song of dedication for the ministry of music in the service. I passed by a nursery full of crying infants and rambunctious toddlers. Families and small children were everywhere.
Sometime during these observations, I was reminded of the reality that my family had once looked like these. A mom, a dad, a six-year-old nerdy brunette boy, four-year-old crabby redheaded girl, and a collic-y blonde newborn baby boy once roamed the streets of Hospers. Strollers and bikes with training wheels cruised those cracked sidewalks. And cries, whimpers, arguments, pouts, and plenty of spankings filled a God-centered household. Yes, we were the Janssen clan. I know from stories shared that my brothers and I were a handful. David was a space cadet. He would tend to wander off while spacing off or with a book in hand. I was an energetic, yet attitude-filled child with the flaming orange locks to match my personality. And Jonathan, well, he collic-y from day one, which I'm sure made for a hectic life. The boys became best friends quickly and often left their only sister to play alone with her dolls all afternoon. (It wasn't really as bad as I made that sound.)
Regardless of the memories my parents have told us about, the young family we remember only through pictures and stories still exists today because of love. A love that a Father showed to all of His children through His Son. A love that that same Father showed to the young parents of that family. And a love that those parents were able to model their own love for their mischievous children after.
Yesterday was Father's Day. A day in which every child is supposed to remember his or her father and thank him for the love and support he has given to his children. On Father's Day, my first feelings were that of remorse and regret. Regret for all the pain and difficulty I've given both my parents. Remorse for making them have to struggle to spank me, discipline me, and show the tough love that they're so good at granting. My parents have raised me with a selfless love for almost 21 years. They gave up their carefree, youthful lives to marry and acquire an immense amount of responsibility and commitment through their relationship with one another. They decided to give birth to David, me, and finally, Jonathan, giving even more of their personal, spare time up in order to commit their lives to raising Christian children. Finally, they turned their backs against the world and chose to commit their lives to Christ before they had even met one another, knowing that one day they may both be called to influence their children in the same way.
My parents never gave me everything I wanted. In fact, our upbringing could be considered frugal by many. I am a PK, after all. However, this has never bothered me. My parents were able to give us everything we needed and that is all that mattered. They provided us with a Christian home, full stomachs, clothing, and all the love they had to offer... everything necessary for a life of service to God.
More importantly, though, is the truth that my Heavenly Father has freely given me everything I could never deserve and more.
Two examples of beautiful love left me with my own feelings of love, gratitude, and obedience at the end of Father's Day. Obedience..a feeling that will always need work. Gratitude..for the self-sacrificial commitments. And finally, love..for two parents willing to sacrifice their lives for mine..and for my true Father, the one who did sacrifice His own Son's life for mine..and my parents'.
Lesson learned: The next time I decided to argue with, ignore, or pick a fight with my parents, it is my prayer that my Father's Day feelings are stirred within me once again and that instead, I am able to embrace my God-given parents with the same love that they raised me with.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Snake = Dead; Fear = Alive
I killed a snake today. Actually, I killed THE snake today.
Last week, while mowing for an older couple across town, a black snake slivered out from a hole in the ground near an old tree stump. I shrieked, literally. And believe me, those girly screams are not something I do. But, this was definitely one high and girly-sounding little shriek. After watching the snake slither away through the grass until I couldn't see it anymore, I practically sprinted laps around the backyard with the mower, so worried that the snake was going to come out of nowhere and attack me.
Needless to say, I was a bit nervous to mow that lawn again today. I did my trimming, mowed a few laps around the outline of the backyard, and was just getting close to the tree stump. I had been checking my every move, looking for something black and slithery lurking in the wild, dandelion-infested lawn. As I rounded the tree stump, I saw it. Basking in the sun on the top of the stump, it was as if the snake saw me at the same moment. It began to quickly slide away, slipping down the side of the stump and into the grass. Not ready to sprint laps around the lawn again, I decided to go after the snake. I cut a path around the stump towards the snake, wildly maneuvering my mower-turned-death trap into the snakes path. Without another thought, I simply road over the snake.
My thoughts afterwards? "Whew. Glad that's gone. I wonder if he has brothers at home under the stump? I sure do hope not. Wait a second, I just brutally killed that snake. Did I actually kill the snake? Did I really only drive over it? Maybe it slithered up through the blades and is just hanging out in my mower, waiting to attack. What if it actually got away and I didn't see it?
Yep, you guessed it. There's definitely still not complete peace about snakes in my mind.
Last week, while mowing for an older couple across town, a black snake slivered out from a hole in the ground near an old tree stump. I shrieked, literally. And believe me, those girly screams are not something I do. But, this was definitely one high and girly-sounding little shriek. After watching the snake slither away through the grass until I couldn't see it anymore, I practically sprinted laps around the backyard with the mower, so worried that the snake was going to come out of nowhere and attack me.
Needless to say, I was a bit nervous to mow that lawn again today. I did my trimming, mowed a few laps around the outline of the backyard, and was just getting close to the tree stump. I had been checking my every move, looking for something black and slithery lurking in the wild, dandelion-infested lawn. As I rounded the tree stump, I saw it. Basking in the sun on the top of the stump, it was as if the snake saw me at the same moment. It began to quickly slide away, slipping down the side of the stump and into the grass. Not ready to sprint laps around the lawn again, I decided to go after the snake. I cut a path around the stump towards the snake, wildly maneuvering my mower-turned-death trap into the snakes path. Without another thought, I simply road over the snake.
My thoughts afterwards? "Whew. Glad that's gone. I wonder if he has brothers at home under the stump? I sure do hope not. Wait a second, I just brutally killed that snake. Did I actually kill the snake? Did I really only drive over it? Maybe it slithered up through the blades and is just hanging out in my mower, waiting to attack. What if it actually got away and I didn't see it?
Yep, you guessed it. There's definitely still not complete peace about snakes in my mind.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
I was silent. Don't be.
There are a lot of different things I look forward to in the summer: sun, swimming, sleeping in, reading non-academically, catching up with old friends, vacation, the list goes on... As soon as the weather gets nice, I also love bonfires. Something about sitting and chatting with friends in the dark around a fire pit filled with glowing embers and fierce flames on a humid, breezy night with incredibly sticky fingers due to the eating of a good ol' smore brings relaxation and peace to a usually busy life. There's usually plenty of laughter, reminiscing, and marshmallows.
Last night, I headed to Orange City for the first bonfire of the summer with some friends from high school. One of the girls was headed to Mexico for most of the summer and goes to Pella for college during the year, so she invited a bunch of people over to say a quick "hello" and "goodbye" for the summer. Only four girls besides the host ended up showing up, but the intimate size of the group made it easy to swap stories of college life back-and-forth.
The conversations started out lightly.. "What's your major?," "Who's your roommate?," "Do you like it there?," etc... Soon, however, one of the girls started sharing stories from the clubs and bars and asked us each if we had drank before. I truthfully answered, no, and was surprised when one of my best friends from high school nodded her head, yes. I didn't press for details or ask how often she drank, but shock was definitely there.
From there, the quality of the conversations took a fast, downhill slide. Topics ranged from hottest guys and most awkward hook-ups to drunkest nights and dirtiest dances. Needless to say, I didn't have much to add to most of the conversations. Most of my participation was laughter and questioning. Questioning, because I didn't understand many of the clubbing lingo and dirty slang some of the girls were using, and laughter, because some of the stories were simply funny.
The part of the night that frustrated me most were the thoughts running through my head almost constantly. "Say something. Call them out. Ask they why?" Thoughts like these filled my mind. As Christians, we're called to be witnesses and testify to God's name. Sitting back and laughing at the stories, while not acting on my conviction to say something about the sinful lives my friends had chosen to participate in.
As I drove home that night, I was frustrated with myself for not saying something, but I was also frustrated with my friends for their dumb decisions. I tried to think of harm that could have come to me if I would have said something. Sure, I may have lost the respect of a few old friends... friends whose respect I didn't really honor anymore due to their poor life decision-making. I might have been made fun of... but my blonde moments cause me to be made fun of all the time, so that's nothing new. I concluded that there really wasn't anything dangerous about speaking up. ERROR NUMBER TWO.
Why did I even worry about the harm that could come from speaking up? God calls us to dedicate our entire lives to him. He asks us to surrender all. To serve only one master--Him. Joshua 24:15 tells Christians to "choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve," and I agree with the second part... "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."
Now, I don't mean to say that my friends are the most awful, terrible people in the world. Because, well, we're all awful, terrible sinners saved only by God's grace. I do want to share a convicting lesson I learned... serving God means serving Him radically, in EVERY aspect of life.
Last night, I headed to Orange City for the first bonfire of the summer with some friends from high school. One of the girls was headed to Mexico for most of the summer and goes to Pella for college during the year, so she invited a bunch of people over to say a quick "hello" and "goodbye" for the summer. Only four girls besides the host ended up showing up, but the intimate size of the group made it easy to swap stories of college life back-and-forth.
The conversations started out lightly.. "What's your major?," "Who's your roommate?," "Do you like it there?," etc... Soon, however, one of the girls started sharing stories from the clubs and bars and asked us each if we had drank before. I truthfully answered, no, and was surprised when one of my best friends from high school nodded her head, yes. I didn't press for details or ask how often she drank, but shock was definitely there.
From there, the quality of the conversations took a fast, downhill slide. Topics ranged from hottest guys and most awkward hook-ups to drunkest nights and dirtiest dances. Needless to say, I didn't have much to add to most of the conversations. Most of my participation was laughter and questioning. Questioning, because I didn't understand many of the clubbing lingo and dirty slang some of the girls were using, and laughter, because some of the stories were simply funny.
The part of the night that frustrated me most were the thoughts running through my head almost constantly. "Say something. Call them out. Ask they why?" Thoughts like these filled my mind. As Christians, we're called to be witnesses and testify to God's name. Sitting back and laughing at the stories, while not acting on my conviction to say something about the sinful lives my friends had chosen to participate in.
As I drove home that night, I was frustrated with myself for not saying something, but I was also frustrated with my friends for their dumb decisions. I tried to think of harm that could have come to me if I would have said something. Sure, I may have lost the respect of a few old friends... friends whose respect I didn't really honor anymore due to their poor life decision-making. I might have been made fun of... but my blonde moments cause me to be made fun of all the time, so that's nothing new. I concluded that there really wasn't anything dangerous about speaking up. ERROR NUMBER TWO.
Why did I even worry about the harm that could come from speaking up? God calls us to dedicate our entire lives to him. He asks us to surrender all. To serve only one master--Him. Joshua 24:15 tells Christians to "choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve," and I agree with the second part... "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."
Now, I don't mean to say that my friends are the most awful, terrible people in the world. Because, well, we're all awful, terrible sinners saved only by God's grace. I do want to share a convicting lesson I learned... serving God means serving Him radically, in EVERY aspect of life.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Emma, old hymns, and new lessons
A few posts back, I wrote about a little girl named Emma who had given Dad a thank you for being her pastor. Well, this morning Emma influenced me yet again during church. Emma's in middle school, so she's a member of the Junior Choir at church. This morning, the choir sang for special music. Emma and three other girls sang an opening song and later sang two more variations of Amazing Grace right before the sermon.
Emma is well-known at church for her very loud singing voice. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed, girl belts out every word of the hymns like it's the final note in the Hallelujah Chorus. Naturally, singing in front of the church is the same. With three other soft, airy singers, Emma's rougher, much louder voice carried. She sang the words to a doctrine-heavy song and the beloved hymn variations with a passion that stunned me. The congregation had just finished singing one of the morning hymns, which I had half-sung while jumping around between alto and soprano, in a methodical manner, singing the words without considering meaning. Emma's singing made me value each line in both the first, unfamiliar song, and the classic hymn.
Emma's intensity convicted me for my own struggles with robot-like worship. There have been too many sermons, hymns, and responsive readings that I've sat, sung, and read through without much engagement. Sometimes, I have even sat through entire services thinking about my afternoon or week plans. I will walk out of the church building neither reflecting on nor recalling anything talked about in the Lord's temple.
As Christians, we are required to set apart ONE day to be entirely devoted to God. Now, of course, all of our lives--so, every day--ought to be devoted to God through work, play, rest, etc... However, ONE day is required as a day of rest..a sabbath to the Lord our God. Sometimes only a couple hours of that day are even dedicated to God, while at church in the morning and evening. And yet, I don't even engage in those couple hours.
Emma's passionate engagement in worshiping her Savior reminded me of the ultimate goal of living: to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.
So, a lesson from me, a constantly convicted sinner saved only by the grace of God: Truly engaging in the worship of our Lord and Creator is indeed a Christian act required of us in order to glorify and enjoy our Father as He has created and commanded us to do.
Emma is well-known at church for her very loud singing voice. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed, girl belts out every word of the hymns like it's the final note in the Hallelujah Chorus. Naturally, singing in front of the church is the same. With three other soft, airy singers, Emma's rougher, much louder voice carried. She sang the words to a doctrine-heavy song and the beloved hymn variations with a passion that stunned me. The congregation had just finished singing one of the morning hymns, which I had half-sung while jumping around between alto and soprano, in a methodical manner, singing the words without considering meaning. Emma's singing made me value each line in both the first, unfamiliar song, and the classic hymn.
Emma's intensity convicted me for my own struggles with robot-like worship. There have been too many sermons, hymns, and responsive readings that I've sat, sung, and read through without much engagement. Sometimes, I have even sat through entire services thinking about my afternoon or week plans. I will walk out of the church building neither reflecting on nor recalling anything talked about in the Lord's temple.
As Christians, we are required to set apart ONE day to be entirely devoted to God. Now, of course, all of our lives--so, every day--ought to be devoted to God through work, play, rest, etc... However, ONE day is required as a day of rest..a sabbath to the Lord our God. Sometimes only a couple hours of that day are even dedicated to God, while at church in the morning and evening. And yet, I don't even engage in those couple hours.
Emma's passionate engagement in worshiping her Savior reminded me of the ultimate goal of living: to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.
So, a lesson from me, a constantly convicted sinner saved only by the grace of God: Truly engaging in the worship of our Lord and Creator is indeed a Christian act required of us in order to glorify and enjoy our Father as He has created and commanded us to do.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
I'm too bored to blog.
This summer has been realllllly slow.
Okay, so maybe it doesn't help when your summer job doesn't start until the second week of June, half your family is still in school, and your boyfriend is nine zillion miles away, but still. I feel like June should be halfway gone and it's barely pushing mid-May. I'm never going to get used to this college-kids-being-done-crazy-early-compared-to-the-rest-of-the-world thing.
Well, anyways. I kind of forgot all about the blogging world until I was reminded of it earlier tonight thanks to Trevor's paper-writing claim to fame. But hey, Trevor, I've already written one this summer (don't ask why), so I think we're tied now. Anyway, I've spent my summer making lots of progress and doing lots of lazy things...causing me to be way too busy being bored to blog.
I started the summer off pretty well. After the first couple days of waking up at noon and going to bed at 2, I decided to be a little more wise mature. I started waking up at 9 and going to bed at 2. I spent every waking minute cleaning and organizing and unpacking and repacking and washing and sorting and throwing and basically sorting through my entire life. The memories were great and terrible and awesome and sad all at once. It was a real emotional rollercoaster every now and then. To show for all my work, I now have the most organized room you will ever see. Every single picture I have is filed away in an album. Every single clothing item I own is hung or folded and stored away neatly (and by color!). Believe it or not, I even spent time sorting my hairties out today. Yes, sometimes I can be a little Type A when it comes to organization. In addition to the neatness, there's this massive pile of clothes and shoes and trashy/cheesy chic flicks and random objects that I'm planning on getting rid of later this summer.
Life reorganized? Check.
During much of my sorting time, I've been watching a TV series called "Chuck," which, if you haven't heard of it, I strongly recommend. It's the classic nerd gets stuck and falls for the pretty girl but can't quite have her plot. There's actually a lot more than that to it, but it's really awesome. I finished the entire first season today, and I started it on Monday. Whooooops. That's lots of tube time. Fortunately, my brother only owns one season.
Brain trashed? Check.
I've already read two books. Both by Nicole Baart. A bit cheesy? Yeah. Still worth it? Definitely. They even both have a sincere, redemptive theme running through them.
Summer book list started? Check.
Dang it. My posts always get way too long. Sorry to anyone reading this.
David graduated from college. I suppose that's a pretty big deal, so I spent about four days doing that. We started driving last Wednesday night, got there Thursday night. Went to Baccalaureate. Went to Commencement--heard AND saw THE LAURA BUSH give the address. That was legit. Had a picnic with his fellow AEX housing group brothers and their families. Hung out with Kim Brinkerhoff--even more awesome than standing less than twenty feet away from Mrs. Bush. Drove home. Spent two hours recharging the battery of Madame Gaga (Chris Bylsma's name for our monster of a green van) at 2 AM. Finally made it home.
Family road trip disaster number one of the summer? Check.
Finally, I've been mowing. I only mow two lawns a week, but they're both kind of ridiculously huge with lots of curves and turns and trees and shrubs to go around, so they take forever. Plus, I have to use the WeedWacker on both of them, so an hour and a half each is the minimum time commitment. Those jobs have also caused me to have my first two sunburns.
Increasing my chances of getting skin cancer? Check.
Although it may sounds like I'm busy after just typing a novel about everything I've been doing, I'm really not. I've watched an entire season of a TV show while sorting hairties. I'm bored. Fortunately, my weekend's looking a bit more exciting. Starting with...
...substitute teaching!! Woo! I substitute teach tomorrow. Basically, I go to every class with a sixth grade girl who has Austism. I'm subbing for my mom (long story). Mom shares lots and lots of stories about her job. Should be interesting, to say the least.
After that, Tulip Festival through Saturday... with Janine (and a sleepover!). and Mia. and Jordan. and other awesome Dordt people. Plus some awesome high school friends. Should be a blast. Maybe I'll finally get busy not being bored and have some time to blog. We'll see.
Finally posted again on my blog? Check.
Okay, so maybe it doesn't help when your summer job doesn't start until the second week of June, half your family is still in school, and your boyfriend is nine zillion miles away, but still. I feel like June should be halfway gone and it's barely pushing mid-May. I'm never going to get used to this college-kids-being-done-crazy-early-compared-to-the-rest-of-the-world thing.
Well, anyways. I kind of forgot all about the blogging world until I was reminded of it earlier tonight thanks to Trevor's paper-writing claim to fame. But hey, Trevor, I've already written one this summer (don't ask why), so I think we're tied now. Anyway, I've spent my summer making lots of progress and doing lots of lazy things...causing me to be way too busy being bored to blog.
I started the summer off pretty well. After the first couple days of waking up at noon and going to bed at 2, I decided to be a little more wise mature. I started waking up at 9 and going to bed at 2. I spent every waking minute cleaning and organizing and unpacking and repacking and washing and sorting and throwing and basically sorting through my entire life. The memories were great and terrible and awesome and sad all at once. It was a real emotional rollercoaster every now and then. To show for all my work, I now have the most organized room you will ever see. Every single picture I have is filed away in an album. Every single clothing item I own is hung or folded and stored away neatly (and by color!). Believe it or not, I even spent time sorting my hairties out today. Yes, sometimes I can be a little Type A when it comes to organization. In addition to the neatness, there's this massive pile of clothes and shoes and trashy/cheesy chic flicks and random objects that I'm planning on getting rid of later this summer.
Life reorganized? Check.
During much of my sorting time, I've been watching a TV series called "Chuck," which, if you haven't heard of it, I strongly recommend. It's the classic nerd gets stuck and falls for the pretty girl but can't quite have her plot. There's actually a lot more than that to it, but it's really awesome. I finished the entire first season today, and I started it on Monday. Whooooops. That's lots of tube time. Fortunately, my brother only owns one season.
Brain trashed? Check.
I've already read two books. Both by Nicole Baart. A bit cheesy? Yeah. Still worth it? Definitely. They even both have a sincere, redemptive theme running through them.
Summer book list started? Check.
Dang it. My posts always get way too long. Sorry to anyone reading this.
David graduated from college. I suppose that's a pretty big deal, so I spent about four days doing that. We started driving last Wednesday night, got there Thursday night. Went to Baccalaureate. Went to Commencement--heard AND saw THE LAURA BUSH give the address. That was legit. Had a picnic with his fellow AEX housing group brothers and their families. Hung out with Kim Brinkerhoff--even more awesome than standing less than twenty feet away from Mrs. Bush. Drove home. Spent two hours recharging the battery of Madame Gaga (Chris Bylsma's name for our monster of a green van) at 2 AM. Finally made it home.
Family road trip disaster number one of the summer? Check.
Finally, I've been mowing. I only mow two lawns a week, but they're both kind of ridiculously huge with lots of curves and turns and trees and shrubs to go around, so they take forever. Plus, I have to use the WeedWacker on both of them, so an hour and a half each is the minimum time commitment. Those jobs have also caused me to have my first two sunburns.
Increasing my chances of getting skin cancer? Check.
Although it may sounds like I'm busy after just typing a novel about everything I've been doing, I'm really not. I've watched an entire season of a TV show while sorting hairties. I'm bored. Fortunately, my weekend's looking a bit more exciting. Starting with...
...substitute teaching!! Woo! I substitute teach tomorrow. Basically, I go to every class with a sixth grade girl who has Austism. I'm subbing for my mom (long story). Mom shares lots and lots of stories about her job. Should be interesting, to say the least.
After that, Tulip Festival through Saturday... with Janine (and a sleepover!). and Mia. and Jordan. and other awesome Dordt people. Plus some awesome high school friends. Should be a blast. Maybe I'll finally get busy not being bored and have some time to blog. We'll see.
Finally posted again on my blog? Check.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Being a PK's pretty legit.
I haven't blogged in a reallllly long time. Can you tell the end of my semester was ridiculously crazy?
Well, anyways, it was. I had 934,389,392 papers to write in the last few weeks and finished them just in time, after my computer crashed on the first day of finals, of course! At the same time, it was great. I still had time to spend with my friends in the final few weeks before summer break, and I might have even managed some pretty decent grades for the semester.
Okay, so the semester's done. Summer's begun. I'm doing nothing (except unpacking, reading, and mowing lawns) until June, so I'm pretty pumped for a relaxing few weeks. Sophomore year was great. I learn a lot. I grew a lot. I changed in more ways than one. However, I'm going to go out on a limb and not write a reflective blog about my year like the rest of the blogger population is.
Instead, this blog is about a lesson I've already learned. Lesson? I love being a pastor's daughter. I have written about my previous hatred of and rebellion towards this forced position in past blogs, but I have a couple more reasons to love it. Both reasons happened (and occurred to me) today.
Reason #1
Needless to say, I have been completely exhausted since coming home due to the crazy semester. For some strange reason, it was necessary for my family to go shopping after picking me up at Dordt. So, we left Dordt at 2 PM and shopped until 9:30 PM. Ridiculous? I think yes. Anyway, that left me even more exhausted. Because of this, I decided to take a quick nap around 4 PM today. This quick nap turned into a long nap. I dozed in and out of sleep and woke up around 7:45. Our evening church service begins at 6 PM, so I missed it. When my parents came downstairs and found me sleeping, I was informed that when I live at home, I live under their rules. One of these rules is (and always has been) that we all attend both church services unless we're out of town or so sick that we can't move. My parents weren't mad at me. They were a bit frustrated, but simply said that sleeping through church--whether accidentally or not--would not be tolerated under their roof. Two years ago, I would have yelled at them, told them "it's a freaking accident, I'm sorry I'm not perfect!"... or something along those lines. Today, I apologized...and fell back asleep (crap). As I've been thinking about what they said, I'm thankful for their strict rule. As a pastor's kid, I've rebelled against having to spend so much time at church, but today, I'm thankful for all the time. Until we're carried to glory, what better place is there to be?
Reason #2
So there's this girl at church named Emma. She's probably in second or third grade and has the loudest singing voice you've ever heard. Seriously. Even when I'm singing from the front of the sanctuary in choir, I can still hear her voice above all others. Emma has an interesting story. She has four younger siblings, and they're all blonde and arguably the most adorable siblings I've ever seen. Emma's mom is a single mother and drug addict or alcoholic of sorts, so her children were taken from her. Emma's been living with her grandparents for a couple years as a foster child. Her twin brother and sister--Dakota and Jackson--just moved in with their grandparents, too, while the other two siblings live with Emma's aunt in the same town.
Many would expect a girl coming from such a broken family to be a troublemaker. However, Emma's the most well-behaved child I've ever seen. She sits up straight and in absolute silence during church, only opening her mouth to quiet one of her siblings when they start fussing. She also PAYS ATTENTION to Dad's sermons. I'm pretty sure I didn't even pay attention until high school.
The reason I realized I love being a PK today is because of something Emma did. Emma made Dad a card. The front of the card reads, "thank you paster jansen." Once opened, it says, "Thank you for everything you have done for us. You have given us so much in our lives. I love you so much. I have never ever heard sombody so boldly preach. From: Emma." WOW. You want a story of redemption? Meet Emma, the girl with a shattered past, who might have the most perfect example of a "childlike faith." Being a PK means I see things like this... firsthand.
There you have it. Don't knock PKs. Some are rebellious. Some fake sainthood. I'm just normal. I'm broken, redeemed, and loving my life.
Well, anyways, it was. I had 934,389,392 papers to write in the last few weeks and finished them just in time, after my computer crashed on the first day of finals, of course! At the same time, it was great. I still had time to spend with my friends in the final few weeks before summer break, and I might have even managed some pretty decent grades for the semester.
Okay, so the semester's done. Summer's begun. I'm doing nothing (except unpacking, reading, and mowing lawns) until June, so I'm pretty pumped for a relaxing few weeks. Sophomore year was great. I learn a lot. I grew a lot. I changed in more ways than one. However, I'm going to go out on a limb and not write a reflective blog about my year like the rest of the blogger population is.
Instead, this blog is about a lesson I've already learned. Lesson? I love being a pastor's daughter. I have written about my previous hatred of and rebellion towards this forced position in past blogs, but I have a couple more reasons to love it. Both reasons happened (and occurred to me) today.
Reason #1
Needless to say, I have been completely exhausted since coming home due to the crazy semester. For some strange reason, it was necessary for my family to go shopping after picking me up at Dordt. So, we left Dordt at 2 PM and shopped until 9:30 PM. Ridiculous? I think yes. Anyway, that left me even more exhausted. Because of this, I decided to take a quick nap around 4 PM today. This quick nap turned into a long nap. I dozed in and out of sleep and woke up around 7:45. Our evening church service begins at 6 PM, so I missed it. When my parents came downstairs and found me sleeping, I was informed that when I live at home, I live under their rules. One of these rules is (and always has been) that we all attend both church services unless we're out of town or so sick that we can't move. My parents weren't mad at me. They were a bit frustrated, but simply said that sleeping through church--whether accidentally or not--would not be tolerated under their roof. Two years ago, I would have yelled at them, told them "it's a freaking accident, I'm sorry I'm not perfect!"... or something along those lines. Today, I apologized...and fell back asleep (crap). As I've been thinking about what they said, I'm thankful for their strict rule. As a pastor's kid, I've rebelled against having to spend so much time at church, but today, I'm thankful for all the time. Until we're carried to glory, what better place is there to be?
Reason #2
So there's this girl at church named Emma. She's probably in second or third grade and has the loudest singing voice you've ever heard. Seriously. Even when I'm singing from the front of the sanctuary in choir, I can still hear her voice above all others. Emma has an interesting story. She has four younger siblings, and they're all blonde and arguably the most adorable siblings I've ever seen. Emma's mom is a single mother and drug addict or alcoholic of sorts, so her children were taken from her. Emma's been living with her grandparents for a couple years as a foster child. Her twin brother and sister--Dakota and Jackson--just moved in with their grandparents, too, while the other two siblings live with Emma's aunt in the same town.
Many would expect a girl coming from such a broken family to be a troublemaker. However, Emma's the most well-behaved child I've ever seen. She sits up straight and in absolute silence during church, only opening her mouth to quiet one of her siblings when they start fussing. She also PAYS ATTENTION to Dad's sermons. I'm pretty sure I didn't even pay attention until high school.
The reason I realized I love being a PK today is because of something Emma did. Emma made Dad a card. The front of the card reads, "thank you paster jansen." Once opened, it says, "Thank you for everything you have done for us. You have given us so much in our lives. I love you so much. I have never ever heard sombody so boldly preach. From: Emma." WOW. You want a story of redemption? Meet Emma, the girl with a shattered past, who might have the most perfect example of a "childlike faith." Being a PK means I see things like this... firsthand.
There you have it. Don't knock PKs. Some are rebellious. Some fake sainthood. I'm just normal. I'm broken, redeemed, and loving my life.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Be urgent.
A missionary shared this in a recent letter sent to my family. I think it's a pretty good reminder of the urgency we, as Christians, must have.
"Just a thought: Last Friday robbers broke into a house just outside of Nairobi and murdered the missionary living there. He left behind a wife and two young children. I did not know these people, but it struck me once again how fragile life is. We could be called home at anytime. Any minute, for any number of reasons, we could lose this body forever. Why, then, do we get caught up in the petty disagreements and hurt feelings that plague the body of Christ? Why, then, do we have no sense of urgency to share with an unbeliever? Why do we hide our faith in the privacy of our homes, when we should be proclaiming it everywhere we go? Mother Teresa knew that the way we live our lives proclaims the power of Christ, but she also knew that speaking would become necessary. Often Christians today say that they are sharing the gospel through their daily lives, but they don’t follow through with the spoken word. People can see that your life is different and that your priorities are different, but how will they know why unless you also speak. Life is fragile, have an urgency, share your faith."
"Just a thought: Last Friday robbers broke into a house just outside of Nairobi and murdered the missionary living there. He left behind a wife and two young children. I did not know these people, but it struck me once again how fragile life is. We could be called home at anytime. Any minute, for any number of reasons, we could lose this body forever. Why, then, do we get caught up in the petty disagreements and hurt feelings that plague the body of Christ? Why, then, do we have no sense of urgency to share with an unbeliever? Why do we hide our faith in the privacy of our homes, when we should be proclaiming it everywhere we go? Mother Teresa knew that the way we live our lives proclaims the power of Christ, but she also knew that speaking would become necessary. Often Christians today say that they are sharing the gospel through their daily lives, but they don’t follow through with the spoken word. People can see that your life is different and that your priorities are different, but how will they know why unless you also speak. Life is fragile, have an urgency, share your faith."
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Integrity is not cliché.
I'm an RA and a member of the Student Life Committee, so following the rules is something I've kind of committed by sophomore year at Dordt to. For those of you not sure of what these two roles include, I'll give you a short explanation.
RA stands for Resident Assistant. I'm a member of the Residence Life Staff, a student staff committed to promoting community growth, Christian life, and respectable morals on campus. This means that my lifestyle ought to reflect all of these. My actions should be admirable and fall in perfect line with Dordt's campus guidelines. Now of course, I'm still a sinner. I still fall completely short of the unattainable perfection. I still turn in assignments late every once in awhile and skip class because I was "sick" much too often. And I should work on these, because really, they aren't reflective of the Christian lifestyle one should live.
The Student Life Committee is basically the committee that decides whether or not to kick people out of Dordt. It sucks. Really, I kind of hate the committee. I leave every meeting feeling crappy because I just had a part in messing up someone's life plans. Fortunately, there's definitely some reassurance and hope in our committee's purposes for kicking students out. Never, EVER do we kick some one out simply because they have messed up one to many times.
When we dismiss students, we dismiss them because we see their absence from Dordt as being better for them. We see it as the place God may be calling them to be in order to reflect on their past mistakes, learn from them, and hopefully grow into a better son or daughter of God. Realizing that we may have messed up their plans but instead are (in a way) forcing them to follow God's plans for their life is just as reassuring as it is when we do not end a meeting with a student dismissal.
Because of these two campus involvements, it's probably now pretty obvious why my upstanding conduct is important. The writing of this blog comes from thoughts on both a few recent Student Life Committee meetings and a conversation I had with a classmate after an English course today. Because the meeting information is confidential, I can't share any of those details, but I can share about the conversation.
My fellow English major and I were discussing summer plans, and she was commenting on her desire to find a cheap place to live while working one of many possible jobs in Northwest Iowa. Unfortunately, she was unsuccessfully finding a place to live and planning on living on campus instead. When I mentioned to her that you could only live on campus if you worked an internship or worked on campus, she became frustrated. Neither of those were included in her job possibilities, and she had no intention of adding them to the list.
"Oh, I'm sure there are ways around that," she said. "I'll just claim that my job is an internship, fudge a few of the hours, and get the free housing. I'm sure people do it all the time."
I held my tongue, but her few sentences really irked me. The hard part is that I'm sure similar words have come out of my mouth more than a few times. People skip class all the time. The professor won't care. I'll just say I wasn't feeling well. Heck, I remember doing this last week. Ironically enough, I'm supposed to be in photography class right now as I type this. (That's a class I'll give you a million excuses to skip, though, especially when I'm pass/failing it...)
Anyways, the overuse of excuses and support like above point to a lack of integrity in our current society. In middle school, I remember the greatest example of integrity being Abraham Lincoln. We studied how his policies and treatment of others made him a perfect example of a man who lived a life of integrity. We were encouraged to "do what is right, even when no one is looking." Integrity is not just for old, dead presidents. Integrity needs to still be alive today.
I wonder how many of us can actually say we ever consider this. Is everything we do right, regardless of whether it will be noticed by others or not? Is our integrity deep enough that we will even pick up the gum wrapper that missed its target of the garbage can? I imagine most of us can remember the last time we didn't portray a character of integrity, but can you remember a time that you did?
RA stands for Resident Assistant. I'm a member of the Residence Life Staff, a student staff committed to promoting community growth, Christian life, and respectable morals on campus. This means that my lifestyle ought to reflect all of these. My actions should be admirable and fall in perfect line with Dordt's campus guidelines. Now of course, I'm still a sinner. I still fall completely short of the unattainable perfection. I still turn in assignments late every once in awhile and skip class because I was "sick" much too often. And I should work on these, because really, they aren't reflective of the Christian lifestyle one should live.
The Student Life Committee is basically the committee that decides whether or not to kick people out of Dordt. It sucks. Really, I kind of hate the committee. I leave every meeting feeling crappy because I just had a part in messing up someone's life plans. Fortunately, there's definitely some reassurance and hope in our committee's purposes for kicking students out. Never, EVER do we kick some one out simply because they have messed up one to many times.
When we dismiss students, we dismiss them because we see their absence from Dordt as being better for them. We see it as the place God may be calling them to be in order to reflect on their past mistakes, learn from them, and hopefully grow into a better son or daughter of God. Realizing that we may have messed up their plans but instead are (in a way) forcing them to follow God's plans for their life is just as reassuring as it is when we do not end a meeting with a student dismissal.
Because of these two campus involvements, it's probably now pretty obvious why my upstanding conduct is important. The writing of this blog comes from thoughts on both a few recent Student Life Committee meetings and a conversation I had with a classmate after an English course today. Because the meeting information is confidential, I can't share any of those details, but I can share about the conversation.
My fellow English major and I were discussing summer plans, and she was commenting on her desire to find a cheap place to live while working one of many possible jobs in Northwest Iowa. Unfortunately, she was unsuccessfully finding a place to live and planning on living on campus instead. When I mentioned to her that you could only live on campus if you worked an internship or worked on campus, she became frustrated. Neither of those were included in her job possibilities, and she had no intention of adding them to the list.
"Oh, I'm sure there are ways around that," she said. "I'll just claim that my job is an internship, fudge a few of the hours, and get the free housing. I'm sure people do it all the time."
I held my tongue, but her few sentences really irked me. The hard part is that I'm sure similar words have come out of my mouth more than a few times. People skip class all the time. The professor won't care. I'll just say I wasn't feeling well. Heck, I remember doing this last week. Ironically enough, I'm supposed to be in photography class right now as I type this. (That's a class I'll give you a million excuses to skip, though, especially when I'm pass/failing it...)
Anyways, the overuse of excuses and support like above point to a lack of integrity in our current society. In middle school, I remember the greatest example of integrity being Abraham Lincoln. We studied how his policies and treatment of others made him a perfect example of a man who lived a life of integrity. We were encouraged to "do what is right, even when no one is looking." Integrity is not just for old, dead presidents. Integrity needs to still be alive today.
I wonder how many of us can actually say we ever consider this. Is everything we do right, regardless of whether it will be noticed by others or not? Is our integrity deep enough that we will even pick up the gum wrapper that missed its target of the garbage can? I imagine most of us can remember the last time we didn't portray a character of integrity, but can you remember a time that you did?
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
I won the match.
Life just keeps getting even more darn complicated.
Sure, it seems like it's finally settling down, figuring itself out, and all that good stuff. Some beautiful friendships of mine keep deepening like I'd never imagined. I'm a CDA next year (this helps support the financial side of college pretty well). God's blessed me with a pretty awesome boyfriend. I'm 99.99999 percent sure about my major. I finally almost, sort of, kind of, maybe have a summer job. I've got a few legit post-graduation options in mind. Life is good.
But there's still the other side of things. My life's good, but so many people don't have it as good. So many people are starving. So many people can't read. So many people are dying from AIDS-related causes. So many people don't have clean water. So many people can't even afford an education. So many, many people need Jesus. SO many people simply are IN NEED. And with those needs, I'm only thinking of and addressing developing countries. Our good ol' United States is in pretty bad shape, too.
Today, I read that on any given Sunday in an African country such as Uganda, Kenya, or Nigeria, more Africans are attending church in that one country alone than in the entire United States combined. What. the. heck? Here I was, thinking America was some religious capital of the world, when really, Africa's kicking our butt. Okay, actually, I realized my country has been going down the tubes since forever ago, but seriously, I was pretty surprised at that fact I read about church-going Americans.
So here's my question...
Why do we send so many missionaries to Africa? I mean, if Africa is really so religious and America is sucking, why not send a bunch of those missionaries around our own country?
That being said, if you know me at all, you also know that I am hoping to student teach in Africa, want to spend at least a portion of my life teaching or serving in some mission-related way overseas, and constantly dream of meeting Katie Davis someday. So, from the perspective of someone interested in being one of those missionaries to Africa from the United States, why don't we keep our missionaries here?
I've wrestled with this question numerous times. Perhaps it's because I've seen the damage short-term missions can do. Maybe it's because I also see the help I've done on short-term service projects. But maybe (probably) it's because God's trying to make me discover the purpose for my big dreams. Maybe, just maybe (most likely), God's asking, "Hey, Kristin, so you want to serve me...awesome... but you're sure it's not just because Katie Davis has an awesome heart and 14 adorable children and is famous?" And for sure, it's because God's a fan of this wrestling thing. He's got this awesome plan for my life, and He's going to make sure I know how and why I'm going to be doing what I'm doing for His glory.
And after wrestling, this is what I've concluded: I've failed, yet again. I've spent months wrestling over that question, and I never once looked for God's words on the matter. Sure, I've prayed about it, but He definitely didn't come down out of the clouds, stand next to my bed, and say, "This is why missionaries should go to Africa..." The good news is He doesn't need to. He already answered my question, over and over and over and over again in His Word. Google "Bible verses on missions" and you've got enough reading to last you the rest of the night. Everywhere you turn, it says "Declare His glory among the nations!" (1 Chronicles 16:23), or something pretty similar to that. Heck, the Great Commission uses the words "all nations." I'm pretty sure the United States is not "all nations."
So yep, go proclaim God's love anywhere and everywhere. Stay in Iowa. Move across the country. Leave your entire life behind and move to Africa. Paraphrasing the words of Kevin DeYoung, a pastor and author I'm a huge fan of, "Live for God, obey the Scriptures, think of others above yourself, be holy, and love Jesus. This is what it means to be walking in the will of God."
"Well shoot" was originally the name of this post, pointing to my frustration with my almost-figured-out-but-not-quite-yet life, but I changed it to reflect what I've learned from simply typing this blog while searching the Scriptures. "I won the match." I wrestled, was losing by points, almost pinned, and had but a few seconds before the final buzzer would sound. When I opened the Bible, God picked that question up, threw it on the ground, and pinned it just in time for the referee to slap the mat and the crowd to jump up and cheer as I sat back and tried to figure out how in the world I'd wasted so much time avoiding God's direct answers.
As usual, lesson learned? The Bible's pretty legit. I definitely need to spend more time in it.
Sure, it seems like it's finally settling down, figuring itself out, and all that good stuff. Some beautiful friendships of mine keep deepening like I'd never imagined. I'm a CDA next year (this helps support the financial side of college pretty well). God's blessed me with a pretty awesome boyfriend. I'm 99.99999 percent sure about my major. I finally almost, sort of, kind of, maybe have a summer job. I've got a few legit post-graduation options in mind. Life is good.
But there's still the other side of things. My life's good, but so many people don't have it as good. So many people are starving. So many people can't read. So many people are dying from AIDS-related causes. So many people don't have clean water. So many people can't even afford an education. So many, many people need Jesus. SO many people simply are IN NEED. And with those needs, I'm only thinking of and addressing developing countries. Our good ol' United States is in pretty bad shape, too.
Today, I read that on any given Sunday in an African country such as Uganda, Kenya, or Nigeria, more Africans are attending church in that one country alone than in the entire United States combined. What. the. heck? Here I was, thinking America was some religious capital of the world, when really, Africa's kicking our butt. Okay, actually, I realized my country has been going down the tubes since forever ago, but seriously, I was pretty surprised at that fact I read about church-going Americans.
So here's my question...
Why do we send so many missionaries to Africa? I mean, if Africa is really so religious and America is sucking, why not send a bunch of those missionaries around our own country?
That being said, if you know me at all, you also know that I am hoping to student teach in Africa, want to spend at least a portion of my life teaching or serving in some mission-related way overseas, and constantly dream of meeting Katie Davis someday. So, from the perspective of someone interested in being one of those missionaries to Africa from the United States, why don't we keep our missionaries here?
I've wrestled with this question numerous times. Perhaps it's because I've seen the damage short-term missions can do. Maybe it's because I also see the help I've done on short-term service projects. But maybe (probably) it's because God's trying to make me discover the purpose for my big dreams. Maybe, just maybe (most likely), God's asking, "Hey, Kristin, so you want to serve me...awesome... but you're sure it's not just because Katie Davis has an awesome heart and 14 adorable children and is famous?" And for sure, it's because God's a fan of this wrestling thing. He's got this awesome plan for my life, and He's going to make sure I know how and why I'm going to be doing what I'm doing for His glory.
And after wrestling, this is what I've concluded: I've failed, yet again. I've spent months wrestling over that question, and I never once looked for God's words on the matter. Sure, I've prayed about it, but He definitely didn't come down out of the clouds, stand next to my bed, and say, "This is why missionaries should go to Africa..." The good news is He doesn't need to. He already answered my question, over and over and over and over again in His Word. Google "Bible verses on missions" and you've got enough reading to last you the rest of the night. Everywhere you turn, it says "Declare His glory among the nations!" (1 Chronicles 16:23), or something pretty similar to that. Heck, the Great Commission uses the words "all nations." I'm pretty sure the United States is not "all nations."
So yep, go proclaim God's love anywhere and everywhere. Stay in Iowa. Move across the country. Leave your entire life behind and move to Africa. Paraphrasing the words of Kevin DeYoung, a pastor and author I'm a huge fan of, "Live for God, obey the Scriptures, think of others above yourself, be holy, and love Jesus. This is what it means to be walking in the will of God."
"Well shoot" was originally the name of this post, pointing to my frustration with my almost-figured-out-but-not-quite-yet life, but I changed it to reflect what I've learned from simply typing this blog while searching the Scriptures. "I won the match." I wrestled, was losing by points, almost pinned, and had but a few seconds before the final buzzer would sound. When I opened the Bible, God picked that question up, threw it on the ground, and pinned it just in time for the referee to slap the mat and the crowd to jump up and cheer as I sat back and tried to figure out how in the world I'd wasted so much time avoiding God's direct answers.
As usual, lesson learned? The Bible's pretty legit. I definitely need to spend more time in it.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
I have been inspired...
...by a woman named Katie Davis. You can read her blog at kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com. Long story short, she went to Uganda at age 17 on a short-term missions trip. She fell in love with Uganda, committed to a year in Uganda after high school, left her family, friends, serious boyfriend, and college dreams, and moved her entire life to Uganda. Why did she do this? Because she felt God's call to do so. How awesome. The teenager gave up every comfort she had in life aside from Jesus Christ and began an entirely new life in Uganda. I'm not a fan of rebelling against your parents, but her parents didn't even support her decision. She prayed even harder and only felt a stronger call to move to Uganda. Awesome, awesome, awesome.
But the story doesn't stop there. Once in Uganda, she started a child sponsorship program, Amazima Ministries, and adopted her first girl at age 18. Yep, she's now a single mom of 14 at 20-years-old. She feeds them, bathes them, clothes them, protects them, and loves them all. Her entire life is now in Uganda.
Katie's story is such an inspiration. I was discussing my interest in her life last night and was asked why I was so inspired by her. Sure, she left her life behind to dedicate herself to complete service to the Lord. However, I've never felt called to live by myself in Uganda with 14 children. In fact, I'm not even sure I completely agree with her decision to be a single mother to all the girls because I believe a father is an absolute necessity (if at all possible) for all families. As I've delved deeper into her blog, I realize where the true inspiration comes from.
Katie's story is attractive to me because I have a strong interest in missions, would love to adopt someday, and am a sap for such selflessness. However, I've realized that the underlying reason that I'm so inspired by Katie is because of the truth, honesty, and faith she writes with in her blog. I am an English major after all, so her writing is something I automatically analyze anyways. Katie Davis is a radical. She is completely consumed with a passion and fire for the Lord that is both inspirational and contagious. She makes me want to further explore God's calling in my life and discover just how radically I can live for Him. She makes me want to spend time serving in Africa and blogging about it daily. She makes me dream in excitement about being a mother some day. She convicts me again and again with her deep faith and trust. Katie's life has been filled with pain and setbacks, yet she recognizes that there is a greater purpose to everything that happens.
With that said, I challenge you. Check out her blog and be inspired. Praise and thank God for such a beautiful, young sister in Christ. Pray for Katie and her 14 daughters. Pray for Amazima ministries. Finally, consider your own life. Do you choose comfort or the cross? Is your life glamorous or are you truly "counting the cost?" If it's glamorous and comfortable, do something uncomfortable and truly bear the cross of Christ. Mark 8:34...Luke 9:23...Matthew 10:38...and the list goes on. It's biblical, so do it!
But the story doesn't stop there. Once in Uganda, she started a child sponsorship program, Amazima Ministries, and adopted her first girl at age 18. Yep, she's now a single mom of 14 at 20-years-old. She feeds them, bathes them, clothes them, protects them, and loves them all. Her entire life is now in Uganda.
Katie's story is such an inspiration. I was discussing my interest in her life last night and was asked why I was so inspired by her. Sure, she left her life behind to dedicate herself to complete service to the Lord. However, I've never felt called to live by myself in Uganda with 14 children. In fact, I'm not even sure I completely agree with her decision to be a single mother to all the girls because I believe a father is an absolute necessity (if at all possible) for all families. As I've delved deeper into her blog, I realize where the true inspiration comes from.
Katie's story is attractive to me because I have a strong interest in missions, would love to adopt someday, and am a sap for such selflessness. However, I've realized that the underlying reason that I'm so inspired by Katie is because of the truth, honesty, and faith she writes with in her blog. I am an English major after all, so her writing is something I automatically analyze anyways. Katie Davis is a radical. She is completely consumed with a passion and fire for the Lord that is both inspirational and contagious. She makes me want to further explore God's calling in my life and discover just how radically I can live for Him. She makes me want to spend time serving in Africa and blogging about it daily. She makes me dream in excitement about being a mother some day. She convicts me again and again with her deep faith and trust. Katie's life has been filled with pain and setbacks, yet she recognizes that there is a greater purpose to everything that happens.
With that said, I challenge you. Check out her blog and be inspired. Praise and thank God for such a beautiful, young sister in Christ. Pray for Katie and her 14 daughters. Pray for Amazima ministries. Finally, consider your own life. Do you choose comfort or the cross? Is your life glamorous or are you truly "counting the cost?" If it's glamorous and comfortable, do something uncomfortable and truly bear the cross of Christ. Mark 8:34...Luke 9:23...Matthew 10:38...and the list goes on. It's biblical, so do it!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Curiosity killed the... babysitter.
Babysitting story number three for the blog:
Kelli and I babysat two girls in our dorm room tonight. Kelli had them for the first hour and I had them for the next two hours. At the end of the night, crushed cheese crackers were ground into the carpet and scattered all over the futon and rug. Paper dolls and real dolls and coloring books and crayons and juice boxes littered the room. As I sat on the futon with two girls sleeping on my lap while waiting for their mother, I was mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted.
After only three hours of sleep the night before and a long day spent with a friend from high school, I was beat before the girls even arrived. When they arrived, I headed to the library to start on a seven-page paper while Kelli babysat, ran into a good friend, and failed to even start the paper. Needless to say, I came back to my room completely unprepared for two wound-up, sugar-high little girls. We spent about an hour wandering the halls of my dorm building, and Jenna and Emily said hello to EVERYONE. All their new "friends" thought they were adorable, but Jenna's endless questions..."What's that? Well why do you have that? Why doesn't Kelli have that? What's your mom's name? Can I have that? What are you doing? Where are we going? etc..." ...got old fast. At the beginning of the night, I answered the majority of the questions, but by the end of the night, I was simply nodding 'yes' and 'no' to questions that required an answer other than 'yes' or 'no.'
So, at the end of the night, I'm thankful for a quiet room, a vacuum cleaner, and the years I have left before I will have to answer all those questions for my own children. Sure, it's awesome that children are inquisitive and curious, and I'm sure I'll love answering my own kids' crazy questions, but for now, I'm simply drained.
Lesson learned: Patience is a virtue... seriously.
Kelli and I babysat two girls in our dorm room tonight. Kelli had them for the first hour and I had them for the next two hours. At the end of the night, crushed cheese crackers were ground into the carpet and scattered all over the futon and rug. Paper dolls and real dolls and coloring books and crayons and juice boxes littered the room. As I sat on the futon with two girls sleeping on my lap while waiting for their mother, I was mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted.
After only three hours of sleep the night before and a long day spent with a friend from high school, I was beat before the girls even arrived. When they arrived, I headed to the library to start on a seven-page paper while Kelli babysat, ran into a good friend, and failed to even start the paper. Needless to say, I came back to my room completely unprepared for two wound-up, sugar-high little girls. We spent about an hour wandering the halls of my dorm building, and Jenna and Emily said hello to EVERYONE. All their new "friends" thought they were adorable, but Jenna's endless questions..."What's that? Well why do you have that? Why doesn't Kelli have that? What's your mom's name? Can I have that? What are you doing? Where are we going? etc..." ...got old fast. At the beginning of the night, I answered the majority of the questions, but by the end of the night, I was simply nodding 'yes' and 'no' to questions that required an answer other than 'yes' or 'no.'
So, at the end of the night, I'm thankful for a quiet room, a vacuum cleaner, and the years I have left before I will have to answer all those questions for my own children. Sure, it's awesome that children are inquisitive and curious, and I'm sure I'll love answering my own kids' crazy questions, but for now, I'm simply drained.
Lesson learned: Patience is a virtue... seriously.
Friday, March 4, 2011
I'm hungry. Are you thirsty?
A good lesson from a smart man:
"The key to Christian living is a thirst and hunger for God. And one of the main reasons people do not understand or experience the sovereignty of grace and the way it works through the awakening of sovereign joy is that their hunger and thirst for God is so small." -John Piper
"The key to Christian living is a thirst and hunger for God. And one of the main reasons people do not understand or experience the sovereignty of grace and the way it works through the awakening of sovereign joy is that their hunger and thirst for God is so small." -John Piper
Friday, February 25, 2011
Unanswered questions? Okay!
In chapel this past week, we talked about service. Pastor Baart mentioned that there are endless opportunities for service anywhere in the world because of all the hurt and sin in the world. This truth has been something I have been struggling with quite a bit lately. In fact, I even blogged about it a couple blogs ago. I became excited, thinking Pastor Baart was going to address the decision-making aspect of service: How do you decide WHERE God wants you to serve? After being convicted by all the needs I have seen in Nicaragua and a few of my courses, I have really been struggling trying to decide where God could use my gifts best. I sat back, ready to finally have my question answered from a biblical perspective.
Unfortunately, Pastor Baart switched gears completely and said that many individuals get to this point and begin to worry about themselves. "I have needs, too," is a common excuse you may hear people try to use to get out of serving the needs of others. He also said that the worst day on Dordt's campus would be the day when everyone put their self-interests above everyone else. Service begins with having a servant heart--a heart that puts others first.
Now don't get me wrong, this lesson is definitely an important one to understand. And sure, I was convicted of my need to continue working on putting others first...always. However, I find it pretty ironic that I was slightly miffed that the chapel message didn't go in the direction I wanted it to. After thinking about my reaction to Pastor Baart choosing a different direction for his message, I shudder at the close ties of my response to Pastor Baart's message. I wanted to get something out of the message. I wanted it to address what I wanted to hear. I wanted it to answer my questions. When it didn't, my selfish, sinful drive kicked it, and I was frustrated.
Chapel lesson learned: All questions don't have instant answers.
Oh boy, this lesson is a tough one, especially for me, the loser of every patience test I have ever experienced. However, another point of irony is that realizing all questions don't have answers helped me answer one of my questions. The lesson has been on my mind for the last couple days because of the amount of mystery and unknown surrounding my own future.
And yet, through the confusion and unanswered questions, I have realized a few things. Maybe, just maybe, God's not going to make it loudly obvious where He wants me to serve. Maybe, just maybe, God's not going to throw the geographical coordinates of an area in need on the side of a blimp and fly it over my head every day. Maybe, just maybe, God's not even going to send me to my life-long mission destination the first time. In fact, maybe I won't even have one long-term home to serve from. Maybe, just maybe, I'll move around often... serving diverse needs wherever I go. Yes, God's going to use me to serve His kingdom and people. But as of now, I don't have a clue where that will be. Finally, for the first time in my life, I think I can honestly say I'm completely content with that.
Unfortunately, Pastor Baart switched gears completely and said that many individuals get to this point and begin to worry about themselves. "I have needs, too," is a common excuse you may hear people try to use to get out of serving the needs of others. He also said that the worst day on Dordt's campus would be the day when everyone put their self-interests above everyone else. Service begins with having a servant heart--a heart that puts others first.
Now don't get me wrong, this lesson is definitely an important one to understand. And sure, I was convicted of my need to continue working on putting others first...always. However, I find it pretty ironic that I was slightly miffed that the chapel message didn't go in the direction I wanted it to. After thinking about my reaction to Pastor Baart choosing a different direction for his message, I shudder at the close ties of my response to Pastor Baart's message. I wanted to get something out of the message. I wanted it to address what I wanted to hear. I wanted it to answer my questions. When it didn't, my selfish, sinful drive kicked it, and I was frustrated.
Chapel lesson learned: All questions don't have instant answers.
Oh boy, this lesson is a tough one, especially for me, the loser of every patience test I have ever experienced. However, another point of irony is that realizing all questions don't have answers helped me answer one of my questions. The lesson has been on my mind for the last couple days because of the amount of mystery and unknown surrounding my own future.
And yet, through the confusion and unanswered questions, I have realized a few things. Maybe, just maybe, God's not going to make it loudly obvious where He wants me to serve. Maybe, just maybe, God's not going to throw the geographical coordinates of an area in need on the side of a blimp and fly it over my head every day. Maybe, just maybe, God's not even going to send me to my life-long mission destination the first time. In fact, maybe I won't even have one long-term home to serve from. Maybe, just maybe, I'll move around often... serving diverse needs wherever I go. Yes, God's going to use me to serve His kingdom and people. But as of now, I don't have a clue where that will be. Finally, for the first time in my life, I think I can honestly say I'm completely content with that.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Growling Shalom
Exhibit A: Peaceful 2-year-old named Savannah.
Exhibit B: Every other moment BUT the one I captured here.
Yep, I babysat again last night. I learned a couple of lessons from babysitting. First, I have an extremely poor short-term memory. I was expecting a four-month-old and a teenage mother. The mom is probably in her mid-thirties, and her daughter is definitely in her "terrible twos."
For the first hour of babysitting, we painted pictures together. Savannah said very little but was more interested in painting my picture than hers. After wiping the paint off her shirt, arms, fingers, hands, face, hair, and toes (don't ask me how she managed to get paint on her toes), we went into the living room to play with some toys. Savannah grabbed a book and came over to sit on my lap. I took the book, read it, and she stood up and walked over to the couch. "Savannah," I said, "Would you like to play with your Etch-a-Sketch now?" "Urrrgh," she grunted. I suggested a few other toys and each was met with a louder "urrrgh." Finally, I crawled over to her and was about to comfort her to try and figure out what was wrong, when she reared her arm back, balled up her fist, and attempted to punch me. I gently scolded her and the grunting continued. Finally, I crawled into the middle of her pile of toys and began playing with them myself. She continued grunting and growling for about a half an hour until she fell asleep standing up with her head laying on the couch. I woke her up for dinner, fed her some pizza, popped in a Dora movie, and she was surprisingly content. If I tried to talk to her, she growled and grunted, so I left her alone. When bedtime came, she was perfect. We put on her pj's, walked upstairs, read a book before bed, and I shut out the light. I walked downstairs and settled in to do some homework for the next three hours before her mother would return. Over the course of the longest three hours of my life, Savannah came downstairs seven times, crying for her mom. I comforted her each time, but eventually, she ended up sleeping in the recliner next to me. And it was there that she woke up yet again ... as soon as her mom walked in the door.
Needless to say, it was a rough night babysitting. Perhaps my roughest. And yet, in the midst of the frustrating, hectic night with a grumpy little girl, I was able to glimpse a little bit of God's beauty and perfection. When Savannah finally fell asleep in the chair, she had an adorable, peaceful smirk on her face. It wasn't a smirk of mischief; it was a smirk of complete shalom. After hours of grunting and growling at me, she had finally achieved peace and contentment at rest.
The second lesson I learned while babysitting has to do with the peace I observed. Maybe, in the midst of our frustrating, hectic, sin-filled lives, we do not take enough time for this peace and contentment with God. We focus so much on complaining and whining about how much is going or can go wrong in our lives that we completely miss the opportunity to simply sit back in perfect shalom with our Father and enjoy the rest He freely gives. So, today, take a moment to spend some silence with your Father. Soak up His love, enjoy the radiant promise of His grace and mercy, and rest in the knowledge of His unfailing love.
SHALOM.
Exhibit B: Every other moment BUT the one I captured here.
Yep, I babysat again last night. I learned a couple of lessons from babysitting. First, I have an extremely poor short-term memory. I was expecting a four-month-old and a teenage mother. The mom is probably in her mid-thirties, and her daughter is definitely in her "terrible twos."
For the first hour of babysitting, we painted pictures together. Savannah said very little but was more interested in painting my picture than hers. After wiping the paint off her shirt, arms, fingers, hands, face, hair, and toes (don't ask me how she managed to get paint on her toes), we went into the living room to play with some toys. Savannah grabbed a book and came over to sit on my lap. I took the book, read it, and she stood up and walked over to the couch. "Savannah," I said, "Would you like to play with your Etch-a-Sketch now?" "Urrrgh," she grunted. I suggested a few other toys and each was met with a louder "urrrgh." Finally, I crawled over to her and was about to comfort her to try and figure out what was wrong, when she reared her arm back, balled up her fist, and attempted to punch me. I gently scolded her and the grunting continued. Finally, I crawled into the middle of her pile of toys and began playing with them myself. She continued grunting and growling for about a half an hour until she fell asleep standing up with her head laying on the couch. I woke her up for dinner, fed her some pizza, popped in a Dora movie, and she was surprisingly content. If I tried to talk to her, she growled and grunted, so I left her alone. When bedtime came, she was perfect. We put on her pj's, walked upstairs, read a book before bed, and I shut out the light. I walked downstairs and settled in to do some homework for the next three hours before her mother would return. Over the course of the longest three hours of my life, Savannah came downstairs seven times, crying for her mom. I comforted her each time, but eventually, she ended up sleeping in the recliner next to me. And it was there that she woke up yet again ... as soon as her mom walked in the door.
Needless to say, it was a rough night babysitting. Perhaps my roughest. And yet, in the midst of the frustrating, hectic night with a grumpy little girl, I was able to glimpse a little bit of God's beauty and perfection. When Savannah finally fell asleep in the chair, she had an adorable, peaceful smirk on her face. It wasn't a smirk of mischief; it was a smirk of complete shalom. After hours of grunting and growling at me, she had finally achieved peace and contentment at rest.
The second lesson I learned while babysitting has to do with the peace I observed. Maybe, in the midst of our frustrating, hectic, sin-filled lives, we do not take enough time for this peace and contentment with God. We focus so much on complaining and whining about how much is going or can go wrong in our lives that we completely miss the opportunity to simply sit back in perfect shalom with our Father and enjoy the rest He freely gives. So, today, take a moment to spend some silence with your Father. Soak up His love, enjoy the radiant promise of His grace and mercy, and rest in the knowledge of His unfailing love.
SHALOM.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Saturday ROCKS!
Today was the most unproductive Saturday of my life, and yet it rocked. I slept in until 9:30, woke up, and slowly got ready for the day. Around 10:30, one of my best friends from high school picked me up, and we headed to The Fruited Plain for a coffee date. We chatted for a little over an hour, and I learned SO much about the beautiful daughter of God. She's getting married at the beginning of June, so needless to say, it's sometimes hard to find time to hang out with her because she spent a lot of time with her fiance in high school and her first two years of college. Now knowing she has the rest of her life to spend with him, she's much more eager and willing to hang out with her high school friends. Did I feel slighted in high school, though? Nope. I had a boyfriend for awhile... he came.. he went.. and my friends were still there. Friends, for the most part, will always be there. She wanted her guy to always be there, so she spent time with him, and now he is :) After discussing wedding plans and updating her on my non-existent (I'm okay with that) love life, we started discussing our futures and our faiths. This part was LEGIT. The girl and her future hubby are interested in missions! Whaaa?? If you follow my blog at all, you'll realize I AM TOO! She (that beautiful girl in the yellow) and her fiance have this passion for people and the pain in the world. He'll be a teacher; she'll be a nurse--perfecto! How refreshing it was to hear a high school friend talk about her faith, this type of conversation with an old friend is unfortunately rare.
After our wonderful coffee date, I ate some rather disgusting lunch in The Commons, and headed to the other girls' dorm with a close friend and future roommate of mine. We chilled in her room for awhile and talked about a few personal struggles of ours with her roommate and her twin sister (two separate people). The twins are those babes in the picture :) Afterwards, we prayed. We sat in a circle on her futon, joined hands, and prayed for patience..peace..understanding..and our brothers in Christ. It was beautiful, and God truly answered the peace prayer immediately.
Next, I wandered down the stairs. On the way down, I ran into another beautiful sister in Christ: my RA from freshmen year. This girl is a beautiful, living example of Christ's love and exhibits the gentleness and grace that He calls His daughters to portray. Did I also mention that she gives the BEST hugs? She knew of the struggles I have recently been dealing with, and could see that my mind was slightly consumed with thoughts at the moment. Silently, she gathered me in her arms and squeezed the life out of me for a full five minutes. We looked at each other, she quietly mentioned that she was praying for me, and I continued down the stairs.
Off to visit one last friend, I ran into a good friend and her boyfriend in the first floor kitchen. They had just finished washing dishes from a lunch they had made together and were excited to see me. I poked my head in,, only intending to say a quick "hello," and ended up getting advice from the mature, Christ-centered relationship halves for about half an hour.
Finally, I wandered into a wing to apologize to a dear friend for a misunderstanding we had experienced earlier that week. The misunderstanding had turned into an avoidance, and I desperately missed her energetic life and smile in my life. I, being the cause of the misunderstanding, asked for forgiveness, we talked, hugged, laughed, and are praising God through our friendship once again.
After the last conversation, I realized I would soon be late for babysitting, so I ran out the door and have been babysitting ever since. For the most unproductive Saturday of my college career, it sure has been a blessing! God's love, blessing, and redeeming grace was evident through all my conversations and run-ins. What a beautiful, truly blessed day it was!
Oh, and I almost forgot! As I headed out of my friend's room, I bumped into a dear friend who had transferred from Dordt this semester and come back to visit her old friends for a week. Ah, so WONDERFUL... God is good. He is so, so good to me!
And Janelle, I've missed you. It's so good to have you back for a week :)
Unconditional Dinosaur Love
Two posts...within 24 hours of each other. This blogging business is getting serious.
So as I mentioned earlier, I spent some time babysitting tonight. Actually, I only babysat for two hours, while the boys' parents attended the Prairie Grass Film Festival on campus. Surprisingly, though, these boys taught me an astonishing lesson in those short hours. They taught me a lesson that I already knew, but they made the truth of the lesson even more real and evident to me.
Lesson learned: For an English major, I suck at storytelling...
...the good thing is, kids don't care. Before tucking the boys in for bed, I decided to make up the story I had promised them earlier in the night. Knowing that their favorite animal was a dinosaur, I knew what my main character had to be. The story went a little like this...
Once upon a time, there were two dinosaurs. The T-Rex was stomping through the woods when a Pterodactyl came flying at him and wrapped his wings around him to give him a big hug. Thinking the Pterodactyl was attacking him, the T-Rex threw the other dinosaur on the ground. Realizing it was supposed to be a hug, the T-Rex quickly rushed over and saved the Pterodactyl's life. The dinosaurs became lifelong friends and lived happily ever after.
Okay, so the story was a little more detailed than that. I gave the dinosaurs the names of the two boys I was babysitting and made the story into a biblical lesson on how God calls us to love our neighbors, care for them, and not hurt them. But still, it was pathetic. The forgiving thing was, these boys absolutely loved it. I was lying on their bed, and they were sitting up intently watching my actions, listening to my legit dinosaur sound effects, and reacting at the perfect times! The kids were kind of an awesome analogy for God's relationship with us. God watches us mess up ALL the time... he listens to our lame excuses... hears our deepest, darkest, most sin-infested thoughts.. knows better than anyone else that we are terrible mess-ups.. and yet, He loves us. Now the boys may not have known how awful my story really was, but they did know I messed up the dinosaur names and listened to my awful story, and yet, they showed me love. They gave me a hug and politely thanked me for the "really cool dinosaur story!" Their love, like God's, was unconditional.
REAL lesson learned: God's love is unconditional. I learned this long ago, still read about it in the Bible, and know it's true. And yet, how can we find such a perfect example? Humans are sinful...SO sinful. Any love we get from humans is doomed to fail us. Friendships, relationships, all of it.. there are always slip-ups, mishaps, and failures. Love is so often conditional in human relations. However, in the eyes of these little boys, I was worth all of their love. I had played with them, fed them snacks, squirmed on the floor like a crocodile, and demonstrated the best lion roar they had ever heard. But yet, there's that word, "worth," again. In their eyes, I was "worth" all their love. Why do we have to always be WORTH love? Why? Why? WHY? Why can't we just freely give love to one another, regardless of if the other is worth that love. Again, I argue that, in part, the boys' love was unconditional. They loved me before I even walked in the door. They loved me, and yet, they didn't know me. God loves us...always...forever...because He simply does. How BEAUTIFUL is that?!
In addition, a smaller lesson I learned is that God's truth and beauty CAN be recognized on a daily basis.. in his creation (the boys). Yes, the creation will still be marred by sin until the day Jesus returns, but there's a glimpse of purity everywhere, if you will only slow down and notice it.
After reading this, please take something away from it. Seek to give unconditional love. In fact, seek to give love that wouldn't be given if conditional. Give love freely to your enemies. And finally, look for God's beauty; it's all around you.
So as I mentioned earlier, I spent some time babysitting tonight. Actually, I only babysat for two hours, while the boys' parents attended the Prairie Grass Film Festival on campus. Surprisingly, though, these boys taught me an astonishing lesson in those short hours. They taught me a lesson that I already knew, but they made the truth of the lesson even more real and evident to me.
Lesson learned: For an English major, I suck at storytelling...
...the good thing is, kids don't care. Before tucking the boys in for bed, I decided to make up the story I had promised them earlier in the night. Knowing that their favorite animal was a dinosaur, I knew what my main character had to be. The story went a little like this...
Once upon a time, there were two dinosaurs. The T-Rex was stomping through the woods when a Pterodactyl came flying at him and wrapped his wings around him to give him a big hug. Thinking the Pterodactyl was attacking him, the T-Rex threw the other dinosaur on the ground. Realizing it was supposed to be a hug, the T-Rex quickly rushed over and saved the Pterodactyl's life. The dinosaurs became lifelong friends and lived happily ever after.
Okay, so the story was a little more detailed than that. I gave the dinosaurs the names of the two boys I was babysitting and made the story into a biblical lesson on how God calls us to love our neighbors, care for them, and not hurt them. But still, it was pathetic. The forgiving thing was, these boys absolutely loved it. I was lying on their bed, and they were sitting up intently watching my actions, listening to my legit dinosaur sound effects, and reacting at the perfect times! The kids were kind of an awesome analogy for God's relationship with us. God watches us mess up ALL the time... he listens to our lame excuses... hears our deepest, darkest, most sin-infested thoughts.. knows better than anyone else that we are terrible mess-ups.. and yet, He loves us. Now the boys may not have known how awful my story really was, but they did know I messed up the dinosaur names and listened to my awful story, and yet, they showed me love. They gave me a hug and politely thanked me for the "really cool dinosaur story!" Their love, like God's, was unconditional.
REAL lesson learned: God's love is unconditional. I learned this long ago, still read about it in the Bible, and know it's true. And yet, how can we find such a perfect example? Humans are sinful...SO sinful. Any love we get from humans is doomed to fail us. Friendships, relationships, all of it.. there are always slip-ups, mishaps, and failures. Love is so often conditional in human relations. However, in the eyes of these little boys, I was worth all of their love. I had played with them, fed them snacks, squirmed on the floor like a crocodile, and demonstrated the best lion roar they had ever heard. But yet, there's that word, "worth," again. In their eyes, I was "worth" all their love. Why do we have to always be WORTH love? Why? Why? WHY? Why can't we just freely give love to one another, regardless of if the other is worth that love. Again, I argue that, in part, the boys' love was unconditional. They loved me before I even walked in the door. They loved me, and yet, they didn't know me. God loves us...always...forever...because He simply does. How BEAUTIFUL is that?!
In addition, a smaller lesson I learned is that God's truth and beauty CAN be recognized on a daily basis.. in his creation (the boys). Yes, the creation will still be marred by sin until the day Jesus returns, but there's a glimpse of purity everywhere, if you will only slow down and notice it.
After reading this, please take something away from it. Seek to give unconditional love. In fact, seek to give love that wouldn't be given if conditional. Give love freely to your enemies. And finally, look for God's beauty; it's all around you.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Busy? Stop what you're doing and just pray.
It's been a really long week. Homework piled up. Classes dragged on. I spent way too much time in the library doing way too little. Now, it's the weekend. Unfortunately, my weekend is looking just as busy as my week. Now filled with homework AND social events, I am not really sure how I'm going to make it through. At the edge of despair and just about to lock myself in my room for the weekend, I wandered out of the library at 4:30, praying for some part of my weekend to provide me with peace and rest. All of a sudden, I realized I had signed up for 24/7 prayer at 5 PM every Friday night. (We signed up for prayer times and spend an hour praying for campus...life...really, anything we want to pray for.) Suddenly, I got really excited. After stopping by Student Services, I headed to the prayer room and spent the next hour lying on the floor, praying aloud to my only comfort in life: My SAVIOR. That hour was by far the best hour of my week. The Lord was SO present at that moment. I spoke outloud to my Father...told him of my struggles, my needs, Dordt's needs, everything...and he listened. An hour later, I sat up, gathered my things, and headed to the Commons for dinner. After quickly eating some pizza, I watched a few films at the Prairie Grass Film Festival, headed back to my room, and am now off to babysit. Sure, I still have a busy, stressful weekend ahead, but for one hour, I was able to clear my head...spend time with my loving Father.. and forget about that. And now, after that blessed hour, I have a renewed trust that God will get me through this weekend. Thanks, Father, for your continuous surprise and love for Your daughter.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
I can't do it all.
I am officially overwhelmed. Being a college student, you may assume that I'm overwhelmed by coursework and campus involvement. Although I do have quite a bit of homework and numerous meetings and events to attend, being a college student actually isn't overwhelming me. Yes, I've spent a couple nights staying in the library until it closes. Heck, I even woke up at 6 AM the past two mornings just to have a few extra hours in my day for homework. So sure, I'm busy, but what is really overwhelming me began over Christmas break and has continued through the semester.
Over Christmas break, I spent eleven days in Managua, Nicaragua on a short-term missions trip through Dordt's AMOR program. Our team consisted of nine students, one admissions counselor, and a retired missionary. We built a classroom, painted just about every wall in Managua, practiced some Spanglish, and learned more from the Nicaraguan Christians' faith than they learned from our interactions with them. While there, we also saw some severe poverty and corruption. Every home we saw was in need of repair. Over half of the students at school were sponsored to go to school because their parents could not provide the $4 it cost to send their children to school. We visited La Casa de Esperanza (The House of Hope), a mission serving the Nicaraguan people by rescuing children from the city's brothels and providing them with homes, food, and the Gospel. All our water was bottled or filtered because of the lack of pure water in Managua. Hospitals were few and far between, and even when those in need could get to a hospital, the nurses were quite unskilled and often lacked appropriate supplies.
Enter this semester. Three courses provide perfect case studies to explain my overwhelmed feelings.
Geography. A course for a middle school social studies endorsement. I was not excited about it. Memorizing maps and types of landmasses did not sound exciting to me. I have definitely never been a busy work/memorization fan. On the first day of class, Jolynn--a lively, energetic adjunct from Northwestern College--blew my expectations out the door. She introduced our major, regular assignments: world issue and regional research papers. The first world issue paper was assigned, and I decided to focus on child sex trafficking and slavery after my experience at La Casa de Esperanza. Whew. It's all over. People die every day due to STD's, violence, and hunger from the prostitution and brothel life. Regional paper assigned. Issue: Causes of poverty in Sub-Saharan Africa. The causes were immense. After a quick Google search, I had to narrow down a list of over 25 causes to the biggest three for my paper. This is real, I thought, SO real.
Linguistics. I decided to complete a KSP Contract for this course, simply because the class has fascinated me from day one. After hearing about the 10,000 Australian Aboriginal children kidnapped by the government and sent to live with white Australian families in an attempt to get rid of the Aboriginal culture and language, I knew what I needed to research and write about.
KSP Book Discussion. Book being discussed: Enrique's Journey. The non-fiction book, written by a journalist, is the true story of a Honduran boy's journey to America to find his mother, who immigrated illegally when he was five--ten years before he began the journey. The book is gripping, devastating, heart-wrenching, and controversial. Never an expert on the immigration process, I am learning so much about the regulations and complications surrounding immigration to the United States. Hearing the stories of immigrants who lose limbs and lives by riding trains North to America sheds a whole new light on the situation.
That said, you may see why I am overwhelmed. There's so much that needs to be done. There are so many people in need of help. There are SO many ways to help. I know I want to go into mission work, but what do I do? I'll be skilled to teach English, but is English really enough? After I graduate, where do I go? How do I know where God's calling me to go? Brooke Fraser, in her song, "Albertine," writes the line, "Now that I have seen, I am responsible." I've seen. I'm responsible.. for all of this? For now, I'm simply trusting God.. waiting on His will to happen.. and praying for the problems in the world.
Over Christmas break, I spent eleven days in Managua, Nicaragua on a short-term missions trip through Dordt's AMOR program. Our team consisted of nine students, one admissions counselor, and a retired missionary. We built a classroom, painted just about every wall in Managua, practiced some Spanglish, and learned more from the Nicaraguan Christians' faith than they learned from our interactions with them. While there, we also saw some severe poverty and corruption. Every home we saw was in need of repair. Over half of the students at school were sponsored to go to school because their parents could not provide the $4 it cost to send their children to school. We visited La Casa de Esperanza (The House of Hope), a mission serving the Nicaraguan people by rescuing children from the city's brothels and providing them with homes, food, and the Gospel. All our water was bottled or filtered because of the lack of pure water in Managua. Hospitals were few and far between, and even when those in need could get to a hospital, the nurses were quite unskilled and often lacked appropriate supplies.
Enter this semester. Three courses provide perfect case studies to explain my overwhelmed feelings.
Geography. A course for a middle school social studies endorsement. I was not excited about it. Memorizing maps and types of landmasses did not sound exciting to me. I have definitely never been a busy work/memorization fan. On the first day of class, Jolynn--a lively, energetic adjunct from Northwestern College--blew my expectations out the door. She introduced our major, regular assignments: world issue and regional research papers. The first world issue paper was assigned, and I decided to focus on child sex trafficking and slavery after my experience at La Casa de Esperanza. Whew. It's all over. People die every day due to STD's, violence, and hunger from the prostitution and brothel life. Regional paper assigned. Issue: Causes of poverty in Sub-Saharan Africa. The causes were immense. After a quick Google search, I had to narrow down a list of over 25 causes to the biggest three for my paper. This is real, I thought, SO real.
Linguistics. I decided to complete a KSP Contract for this course, simply because the class has fascinated me from day one. After hearing about the 10,000 Australian Aboriginal children kidnapped by the government and sent to live with white Australian families in an attempt to get rid of the Aboriginal culture and language, I knew what I needed to research and write about.
KSP Book Discussion. Book being discussed: Enrique's Journey. The non-fiction book, written by a journalist, is the true story of a Honduran boy's journey to America to find his mother, who immigrated illegally when he was five--ten years before he began the journey. The book is gripping, devastating, heart-wrenching, and controversial. Never an expert on the immigration process, I am learning so much about the regulations and complications surrounding immigration to the United States. Hearing the stories of immigrants who lose limbs and lives by riding trains North to America sheds a whole new light on the situation.
That said, you may see why I am overwhelmed. There's so much that needs to be done. There are so many people in need of help. There are SO many ways to help. I know I want to go into mission work, but what do I do? I'll be skilled to teach English, but is English really enough? After I graduate, where do I go? How do I know where God's calling me to go? Brooke Fraser, in her song, "Albertine," writes the line, "Now that I have seen, I am responsible." I've seen. I'm responsible.. for all of this? For now, I'm simply trusting God.. waiting on His will to happen.. and praying for the problems in the world.
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