Imperfect

We all know a bit too much about imperfect.

It´s all around us. It´s inescapable.

Imperfect is when a college student does not return from class because they´ve been shot.

Imperfect is when the kids in El Salvador´s streets cannot avoid gangs, rape and empty futures. 

Imperfect is when families in Syria have access to no safe place on the entire planet. 

Imperfect is when the little girl still thinks her parent´s divorce was her fault.

Imperfect is the 17-year-old in court who has tried to stop smoking marijuana for two years but can´t, and all the rehab facilities have waiting lists.

Imperfect is an irregular heartbeat on an EKG that scares me.

Imperfect is the hidden tears on the young face of one I love. 

We know too much about imperfect.

Our belief in anything—humanity, reforms, beauty, God—waxes thin and our hearts grow tired of loving. But something inside of us shouts for reason…for don´t you only label things as imperfect because your soul also knows that perfect exists? Isn´t all this chaos of imperfection inversely defining some pristine and yet illusive concept of perfection?

Perhaps there is a “perfect” Love that would make us entirely less afraid. Perhaps there is a “perfect” way by which imperfect beings can be made spotless again through the grace and sacrifice of another. Perhaps there is a “perfect” sequence of events weaving itself above and beyond and through all this imperfection. Perhaps the only way for the superiority of Perfection to be made convincingly manifest is to let the ugliness of imperfection run its course. Perhaps this mess of broken and fallen realities will draw us, without force or coercion, to develop a loyalty within us that will never allow this to happen again.

He Writes

Several months have passed since posting any thoughts. I may have subconsciously wanted to give it a break and see if I would miss it. Or perhaps, I wanted to be sure of all of my motives.

With finals done, a lull in my work schedule, and the rain keeping me indoors, I´ve felt nudged by a still, small voice to make writing a priority again. I have been reminded of how much writing means to me. Writing brings greater introspection and awareness. Writing gives clarity, perhaps because the letters are arranged at regular intervals on a white page and neatly lined up in rows. The written words are, much like photographs, my souvenirs of having lived.

And so, I write. I want to write about Him—the tireless Writer. For when everyone gives up, He writes. When the present with its joys and troubles is all we can see, He writes eternal thoughts. When we think surely He has abandoned us, He still writes in a quiet corner. When in our weakness we are swept away by enemy floods, He wages war with His pen and rescues us.

His intent is simple, almost childish. His hands hold a writing tablet and He etches, a millimeter at a time, all things beautiful. But four letters take precedence.  An L, an O…and with painstaking precision a V and an E. Over and over, He carefully seeks another empty surface on the same tablet and begins again. He will not stop until it is perfect, until every space and corner is filled with His Love. He who has begun this good work will surely complete it.

And this is my hope. For when I am not faithful, I am called back and still God writes.

“The tablets were written on both sides; on the one side and on the other they were written. Now the tablets were the work of God and the writing was the writing of God engraved on the tablets.” (Exodus 32:15, 16)

“…not on tablets of stone but on tablets of flesh, that is, of the heart.” (2 Corinthians 3:3)

“…this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put My law in their minds, and write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be My people.” (Jeremiah 31:33) 

Normal

The green is more brilliant today. The sky is more strikingly blue. This is the clearest it´s been since the fires started over a week ago. The smoke has dissipated and the vibrancy of color returns. I´d almost forgotten what normal was.

I contemplate a comparison between the clearing atmosphere and the moment when we´ll at last see our God face to face rather than “through a glass dimly.”

We've almost forgotten what normal was. We hear only distant rumors of how life was before the haze of sin hid our Father´s countenance and sucked color from our vision. Were we indeed destined for evening walks with our Creator God?

When time brings restoration, a vaguely familiar face will appear—the Holy One who is Love, in full and glorious color. A hidden spring will flood my heart with recognition…this is the face we once knew. This is the original spectrum of color unveiled. Our souls will eagerly drink in the sight…because we´d almost forgotten what normal was. 

That Was Me

She gave vague answers and avoided a few of my questions altogether. I never did find out how she had ended up alone on an isolated stretch of Highway 36 as the sun was about to set.

I´d glimpsed her sitting on a rock as I maneuvered one of the highway´s many curves. Curious and concerned about her safety, I wondered if I should turn around. In a matter of seconds I had prayed, slowed my car, and almost involuntarily found myself heading back the way I´d come.

I rolled down my window and asked if she needed help. She looked slightly nervous but accepted a ride. As we exchanged some words, I realized very quickly that she was mentally unstable and hearing voices (either due to a psychological disorder, drug use, or both, I do not know).

“Are the voices making you afraid at all or are you okay?” I inquired as nonchalantly as possible.

“I´m okay right now,” she said.

For a few moments I doubted whether it was wise to have a woman like this in my car but then remembered it was God who had made me turn around and give her a ride. I tried not to worry.

“Do you have any cigarettes?” she asked.

“No, I don´t smoke. Are you hungry?” I ventured.

“Actually I am,” she said.

After eating two scones that I had with me, she still was giving me only non-specific responses to my efforts at conversation. I turned on a Christian music CD and focused on driving. A few times I could feel her gazing at me. Our mutual silence was only broken by her random bursts of laughter and a bit of unintelligible mumbling.

As I dropped her off at the store I had agreed to leave her at, I made a last effort to confirm that she actually had a place where she would be able to stay that night. She said she´d be fine as she wrapped her shawl around her arms more tightly and walked away with barely a word of thanks.

I drove back towards home. Her strong body odor lingered in the air for a while. I wondered if there was more I could have done. God seemed to assure me that, just as He had sent me to care for some of her needs, He would continue to watch over her. I thought of how much heaven Loves that scared, muttering, broken lady and I hoped that some part of her knew that I loved her.

Had she seen God´s Love in me? If it had been Jesus in the seat next to me, would I have treated Him any more politely or any more warmly than I did that lady?  

In a way, the true answer is “no” because as Jesus says Himself, “That WAS me.”

“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” 

Matthew 25:40

Don´t Know Why

I don´t know why it happens. Why suddenly I wake up as from a sleep and realize I´ve failed. I´ve hurt someone I love. I have said the wrong thing. I have stood still when I should have made an effort. I have been blind to things that even a blind person would have “seen.”

I wonder how and why. How I got to that place when my intentions were never terrible. Why I find myself having to fix something that I never meant to break.

Disappointment at my failures has a whole new edge to it. Beyond disappointing myself and another person, I have disappointed the God I love. It is unbearable. All I´ve truly desired in recent months is to reflect a vibrant ray of God´s own Love without distortion. I couldn´t do that. I couldn´t reflect Him purely. I stand numb and ashamed. What can a weak and untrustworthy human ever offer to a deeply faithful God?

I don´t know why it happens. But then again…perhaps I do. It drives me to my knees in self-distrust. It humbles me. It is part of a process…God´s process…a process that I won´t ever fully understand…a process that will one day find me stirring with the first morning light and waking up in His own image, His own likeness! One day I will awake incapable of disappointing Him ever again! 

“As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness: I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness.” Psalm 17:15

Deep...not complicated

A glance into the mirror and I remember how simple I am. Just a fumbling girl with no special attributes and little to recommend me. And yet, I cannot make myself ignore God calling out to me from all directions.

Me: I´m just a very simple girl, Father God. Why do you desire me so intently?

God: Actually…I´m simple too.

Me: You? No. If you were simple, more people would understand you.

God: No, truly, I am not complicated. When things don´t make sense or when you feel far from me, you conclude that I must be complicated. But I am not...I am simply deep. People complicate me…the truth of me. They too often confuse my depth with complexity. I am actually very simple. 

I sink into musing, for how God has just defined Himself to me is new.

God is Love. He wants simple things...He wants me to know true Love.

His Love—not complicated, just deep.

Waking Up

Sleepy eyes. Time to get up. Unmotivated.

I don´t want to think about the school and work assignments that await me.

The horizon is just beginning to turn light. My window frames a piece of the changing sky. In my drowsiness a wave of nostalgia hits me—I guess if I´m honest I actually must say a wave of sadness.

I miss Him. The clouds have still not rolled back as a scroll. His glory has not yet broken through the atmosphere, making everything right again. Another morning without seeing His face. It´s almost too much to bear at 5:50 a.m.    

I imagine the framed piece of the sky being a door to heaven. Maybe if I stare at it long enough. Maybe if I relentlessly look up it will swing open and I will see the joyous and tearful face of my God rushing to let me feel His arms for the first time.

But I am still on this side of the door…and He on the other. Could it be He is more anxious than I, with His scarred hand expectantly hovering near the door handle? Heart beating fast? Longing to end His millennia of loneliness…waiting to fling aside the separation and take away earth´s pain forever.

 

A lonely yet lovely tune reaches my ears. I´m not imagining it. The bird sings on and I know it is God´s chosen musician. Dawning realization is that, despite everything, this morning has been anointed by Love—my feeble love for Him and His aching Love for me.  All becomes bearable…because I have heard the Love song.    

Replay the song, pick the flower

I never prayed for the miracle. It found me.

I used to be afraid of miracles. I was content reading about miracles long ago and far away in Bible stories…until pure grace turned my perspective upside down. The miracle of God in my plain, unworthy life made me face my fears…the fear of seeing my own helplessness, the fear of being challenged to change, the fear of having to invest my whole life standing by a miracle that I truly believed in.

The funny thing is that my reaction has been quite the opposite. I stretch out my hands to ask for what I was previously fearful of. Songs I´ve heard often enough now break me and challenge me to radical belief. Rain-kissed flowers reflect a love story that is changing my world. I have no desire to get over my amazement and return to my comfortable routine. My only desire is for the miracle to continue…for my breath to be taken away unceasingly…for the reality of God´s kind of love to transform me.

A taste of the miraculous has made me hungry for more. The depth of God´s love is like the call of the wild. I cannot stop hearing its echoes, seeing its beauty even in darkness. I replay the song…I pick the flower…I pause in the light of the sunrise or sunset. 

I am no longer satisfied with hearing a song in a new way…I want to hear it over and over…I want the miracle to reach deeper within. I am no longer happy recognizing God´s love in a flower…I want to touch it…I want to keep its color forever between the pages of my journal.

I want to lose track of all skepticism and realize that the miracle that began many months ago is not stuck in the glorious past. The miracle will continue if I replay the song and pick the flower and let God transform all my fears into new levels of faith. This miracle is an eternal gift from God´s heart to mine and I will not forget. This is just the beginning.   

 

Love in Darkness and Light

A girl kneeling alone on a hillside. Her brow reflects earnestness. You see the clasped hands and imagine that this girl must be one of those full of faith.

But I know differently. At heart this girl is full of doubts.

Words of prayer are sometimes too much for her to formulate because she questions the closeness of one who hears. She wonders whether it is complete craziness to speak phrases that are carried into nothingness on the winter winds. The miracles so recently touched are dimmed by the passing of days and by the darkness cast by faith´s enemy. The sense of separation from the object of her faith leaves only tearful questions to be cast skyward, “Is this real? Is it true?”

When I cannot muster passionate confidence in my praise and petitions, I am somehow yet compelled to that hillside. When God seems most aloof, His face hardly distinct, and His love just a fairytale, I pace back and forth, and refuse to leave. In those precise moments of doubting, the true meaning of faith and love slowly and brightly dawns.

On doubt-shrouded mornings, fog momentarily lets the first rays of the sun break forth. It sinks in, right then and there, that love has always been so much more than an exquisite feeling. Love is a decision, a commitment, a principle that surpasses feelings, and yet instigates feelings all at the same time. When God seeks to know the depth of your love, He may choose to withdraw the “warm feelings” and test the strength of love´s commitment. He may briefly take away the clarity, or the logic, or the fun of it all and prove whether the love principle still beats in our hearts. If we rush to embrace the commitment of love with as much sincerity and excitement as we embrace the feeling of love, God stops what He is doing to take notice…for He has found one who will not forsake loving Him in the dark, through the pain, during any trial, beneath the weight of the heaviest cross.

Many feel the love of God in moments, and maybe even feel love for Him back…but we stop short of engaging that love with all our heart, soul, and mind…we resist committing ourselves to its reality for life...through thick and thin, silences and doubt.       

"Behold, I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive him: On the left hand, where he doth work, but I cannot behold him: he hideth himself on the right hand, that I cannot see him: But he knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold." Job 23:8-10

Keep Falling

I can still picture the scenario. My friend urged me to go over a relatively easy jump on my mountain bike. I couldn´t resist the challenge in her voice and sped up towards it. It was in mid-air that I realized I hadn´t really calculated my landing and I was pretty much headed for a large ditch to the right. Either way I knew I was going to be unsuccessful in staying upright with my bike. With my inexperience, I´d either crash into the ditch or crash trying to swerve away from it. 

The feeling of falling through the air lasted only a split second. But in that second I winced and braced myself for the impact.

Lately, the falling sensation has come back more than once. The feeling of having my assumptions, my petty ideals, and my comfortable self-image being snatched out from under me. I look up at the starry sky and realize that I´m not what I thought I was. Just like that…the ground disappears beneath me and I am falling!

It´s disconcerting. It´s humbling to know that I have so many platforms of complacency and self-delusion to fall off of as I try to earnestly seek God. I often cry as I fall—tears that taste of both remorse and relinquishment. I don´t like the falling sensation. It´s intimidating not knowing how or when I´m going to land. As gravity pulls me downward, I sometimes begin to think that God must have forgotten me. I brace myself to be hurt. 

The impact surprises me every time. For some strange reason, I land gently on a rough, solid structure. My arms cling to the warm wood that has stopped my fall through space. It is a cross. It is the cross where justice and mercy embraced. It is the cross where true love won. It is the cross where Jesus and I can be one. It is the cross where death means the promise of new life.

My heart relaxes. This landing was nothing like I had imagined. Just as I was fairly unscathed from the tumble on my bike, this is a safe place to fall. I don´t mind falling onto the cross—onto the efficacy of heaven´s ultimate sacrifice. I don’t mind even dying here. I don´t mind being impacted by genuine love.

Again the cross catches me and my plea becomes, “Keep me falling…falling on love…falling into love…falling deeper into my Savior’s heart.”

   

Unpacking

Home after two weeks. Passed are the long hours on interstates and highways.

Now back to where all is familiar—Humboldt. Suitcase unpacked. Attempts to put my room back in order. The living of 2014 waits expectantly. Fresh responsibilities clamor for attention.

Honestly though, my heart is not yet unpacked. I hold within me experiences, conversations, and sights that I´m afraid to categorize and put away.

In a ridiculous way I am attached to 2013, specifically the last 3 months of it. I unequivocally consider them the most vivid, most impactful 3 months of my life. The experiences of our year-end road trip were like a needful weaving together of various strands of my recent existence. I am not eager to walk full stride into my common routine when I am still trying to interpret the meaning of so much.

What if I forget? What if the emotions didn´t sink in deep enough to change me? What if I make the same mistakes again? What if time convinces me that over-flowing happiness is transient and transformation not possible? What if the laughter, tears and prayers of the last 2 weeks lose their significance? What if the all-consuming desire to know the Love of God fades in the busy schedule of things?

I admit…I´m too nostalgic. I always have been. God doesn´t mind. He actually grows excited as He listens to my woeful questioning. His own response makes Him gleeful.

“Precious child, the moments we´ve spent together have delighted me to no end, but the best is yet to come! The love you´ve found in me has no starting point and no ending point…nothing can quench it, whilst every prayer, and smile, and unselfish act make it grow more intense. You´ve been caught up into something eternal, beautifully entangled in something lovely, captivated by something rather invisible. And yet it is real. I am real. Greater love never ceases to give its life for the beloved. I will fight for you and continue to win your heart more profoundly with each sunrise. Our memories are sweet, but our future is sweeter. The coming hours, days, and months will not be easier or without trouble, but they will be increasingly lovely as my character and plan unfolds before your eyes. What glorious beginnings—simply a foretaste of heaven itself!”

(deep breath) I feel ready to unpack now. I´ve found a special place in my room for all my blessed memories. Their echoes will inspire me to scramble over rocks, run into waves, stare up at the stars, and reflect my new joy—unhindered.

Hold Him Carefully

It´s possible I over-think issues sometimes. But when you´re a still-life actor in a live Nativity scene and have to stay frozen in position for half an hour or so, it´s an ideal time for your mind to wander deep into thought.

 

I sat there last night with my glance cast downward to a Baby Jesus doll nestled in my arms. In my scene, two wise men looked on while Joseph stood at my side. I began to wonder what it might have been like to hold Jesus this close, close to my heart. I tried to imagine what it might have been like to be the first one, the first one to peer into the eyes of God´s own Son who was also my own newborn son.

Her gaze must have emanated the rapture and glow of new mothers. This warm bundle of humanity was hers to love. Mary´s joy-filled heart did not fully know what her hands held—the only true Hope for her and the rest of the world. But she knew this baby was a treasure of utmost value. She knew she must hold Him carefully. 

It took a split moment for me to recognize—I hold that same baby´s heart in MY hands. He was born of Mary, but He came to give HIMSELF to each of us. His pierced and now resurrected heart throbs for love of me. He trusts that His sacrifice was not in vain. He hopes that we will accept His warm gift and hold His heart carefully. 

How closely do I clasp Jesus in my arms? How careful am I to never let Him go?

Although we would be horrified to see Mary dropping Baby Jesus or leaving Him abandoned on the straw, we break His heart and forget Him without even a shiver. We let Him slip lower and lower on our priority list. Sin and darkness take any opportunity to snatch Him away from us. We chase after life—work, entertainment, friends, final exams, charitable activities, our dreams—and, most likely, somewhere along the way we have let Jesus´ heart crash to the ground. Perhaps we´ve returned to pick up that heart, with words of apology…but we have so many other things we are trying to hold on to that He is in constant danger of being dropped again.

Dear friends, let everything else go to discover the treasure who is Jesus. Let not negligence or distractions steal Him from your arms. An ongoing encounter with His passionate warmth is all that matters. He is no longer a fragile infant, but His heart is still strikingly vulnerable. So when He entrusts to you His heart of love, hold Him carefully.

Trust Matters

A look of expectancy in their eyes always sparks a throb of compassion within me.  Even on hardened, tattooed faces I read the unspoken plea in their expression—“Please. Please trust me. Trust me one more time.”

Laws have been disregarded. People have been hurt. Accusations of broken trust, some valid and others unfounded, fill the hallways. It´s another day in court. The orange-clad inmate stands awaiting the judge´s decision…release on his own recognizance (a defendant´s promise to return to court) or continued detention. And it all comes down to trust. Does the judge trust him enough to release him back into society? Does his behavior warrant a second chance? Can he be trusted to keep his promise, trusted with freedom?

The reality of the legal system contrasts with my friend´s words, “Yeah, don´t. Don´t trust me. I´ll disappoint you again. I don´t want you to trust me ´cause at some point I´ll fail and hurt you.”

I was momentarily quiet and then swallowed before replying, “Well, I´ll trust you anyways because I love you and I know you´re trying.”

Love changes the whole picture. Unlike the judge who objectively considers the legal case of a stranger, I saw that God´s personal love for me does not deliberate over His decision. He recklessly forgives and then amazingly trusts me again…all because He unceasingly loves. His forgiveness sets me free from my past; His trust in my potential calls me to new life.

Like my friend, I fear being trusted. I mentally want to run not from God´s love but from the weight of trust—the trust that a love relationship with God implies. I know I cannot fulfill the expectations of a perfect God. I would break His trust, bruise His heart, and fall short.    

It was when I imagined the inmate´s handcuffs being unlocked that I realized the power of trust. If I didn´t let God trust me, I would stay shackled to this earth, stuck in my inability to obey. God´s trust in us makes victory possible. His bold trust in me means my freedom.  He knows. He knows that trusting me sets me free to disappoint Him. But He knows that it also enables me to bring abounding satisfaction to His existence. His confidence in my “ability” brings me to my knees seeking continual help and strength.  

You see, being trusted by someone who loves you sets you free to disappoint, but it also sets you free to succeed. Free to fall, but also free to attain new heights in the power of Jesus Christ. Trust places intimidating expectations upon us, but they are expectations that call us to be more than we ever imagined.

So, when God tells you “I trust you,” it means He loves you and is setting you free. 

 

The Picture

He holds the picture close. There´s something about the way his fingers cradle it—lovingly, carefully, and yet so firmly (as if afraid any strong gust of wind might steal it away). The picture is worn on the edges, but it is obviously precious to him.

Heavenly light shines briefly on the picture´s surface. When I catch a glimpse, I step back in awe. The picture is beautiful—all that is pure, strong, and touched by grace! The image reminds me so much of my Savior Jesus that it takes me several minutes to realize…it´s a picture of me. It´s a picture of what I am destined to be, a picture of how God dreams of me, a picture of me made new, me transformed completely by heaven´s deep atmosphere of Love.

It is then I understand. This picture is his link to undying hope. You see, I disappointed him today; I crushed the hopes he cherished for his child. I trampled the faith he had in me and brought disgrace to the name I bear. I fell short and broke his innocent trust in my potential.

I find myself before him, seeking reconciliation. I had never considered what might run through his mind as he extends forgiveness to me for the umpteenth time, as he prepares to place his oft-broken, fragile heart back into my clumsy, human hands, as he floods me with love without thinking twice. He steals a glance at the picture of what I can become while he willingly trusts me again with his love, his heart, and his friendship (which I have already betrayed countless times before).

I see why he clings to the picture. Without it he may have given up long ago, he may have forgotten what he was fighting for. He is fighting (with powerful weapons of love, grace, and forgiveness) for the day when that picture will be a reality. Someday he will let the breeze sweep the picture afar because I will have become what he always dreamed of and there will be implicit trust between us, forever.  

"Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. All who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure." I John 3:2, 3