He breaks you and builds you up.

About this time last month, my home church held their student camp on its property. Every morning and evening, we gathered together in the worship center, which had been decked out with a different set-up and strobe lights, and we would listen to a message. One of the days, as part of his lesson, our speaker had us call out different negative and positive attributes that people believe about Jesus Christ, and who they perceive him to be. The speaker would then write it down. Of course, the "positives" were supposed to be the truths about Jesus. One student, I remember, raised his hand and said, "He breaks you and builds you up," to which the speaker responds, "Uh, here, let's just put that he builds you up."

We are uncomfortable with the brokenness. We don't like to focus too much on the unraveling, the exposing, the hurt that comes with knowing Jesus. And we're afraid to call it out about him-- because it doesn't always make him look attractive. It’s hard to see that Jesus as the same Jesus as good Jesus. We just want to get to the part where we *feel* good again-- but there is no building up without the tearing down of our walls. It is so beautifully and uniquely Jesus Christ, the way he breaks us. How he demands we rid ourselves of what is deceiving us to death. It is a testimony of miracles being witnessed and experienced in our lives, how we *never* could have made it through on our own strength. How we, for reasons we can't completely explain, found joy in the trials.

Right now, it is happening to my state-- it's breaking. In the past week, the coast of Texas has suffered a massive and intense hurricane/tropical storm, bringing us some of the worst flooding you've ever seen. It feels as if it were a dream-- like, did that really happen? Homes destroyed, people drowning-- a traumatic, historical event from which we will be in recovery for years to come. And yet, in the midst of it all? A response of love. It's almost unanimously agreed that unification is at the heart of our country like no other time than when we are in such a crisis as this one-- and it's found in the community, among the country's very own people. We have been grateful for how the brokenness has built us up in more ways than we thought possible-- in relationships with our neighbors, in our sacrifice for the sake of others, in our courage and willingness to serve-- in the things that are UNMATCHED against the suffering. Do we ignore the pain? By all means, no. We embrace it. We cradle it in tears. We acknowledge that we hate the storm, and we lament the suffering-- but we do it together. It is in this lament and sorrow that we are being built up again, because it draws us to fight for each other. It snaps us out of our heads, straight into our hearts and humanity, awakening us to love without hesitation. It gives us the courage to take hold of our Hope and to take it day by day. We forget "who we are," and remember who. we. are. Broken, and built up-- this time, stronger. And it never would have happened otherwise.

On the same day-- in the same hour-- I find myself both telling God he is worthy of everything and asking myself if I am crazy for believing He's real.

Yes, maybe I am. That is the life of faith after all. 

This God for whom I'm daring to live my life has taken me on the greatest adventure as I seek to know Him. He never stops surprising me. The unchanging God is the least boring-- which it's sometimes hard for me to remember that He is unchanging, because I am always learning new things about Him. And as I get to know Him, who He is in my eyes is changing-- He's becoming more of who He's always been, and less of who I've made Him up to be.  

Though the digging, the seeking, the finding-- it is not for the lazy. It requires discipline and causes you to have questions, some of which will be answered and some that won't. It takes your faith and your faithfulness. Sometimes you'll wonder to yourself how you got here, and have to remind yourself Why. Don't be afraid to wrestle. Study His Word. Do the work. He is truth and He's not going anywhere. 

Words for the match-holders

I wrote this post back in December. I spoke on a podcast + went to a retreat-like happening by an organization, Wildfire Collective, whose purpose is to teach teen girls to live the wild, untamed life of faith-- and give them avenues to do so. It is when I first heard their vision that these words arose up in my heart.

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"For those who feel as if they are both too much and not enough." <--- the time I first read this, I did not think there could be any other group of words that better expressed the way I felt and still feel.

Too much emotion.
Not enough bravery.
Too much mess.
Not enough beauty.
Too much trying.
Not enough confidence.
Too much fat.
Not enough muscle.
Too much independence.
Not enough elegance.
Too much naiveté.
Not enough wisdom.
Too much weakness.
Not enough self-control.
Too much wavering.
Not enough consistency.

Both too much and not enough for them.
Both too much and not enough for me.
Both too much and not enough for God.

 But then there are the day, hours, seconds that I am okay. On top of the world, actually. Why is that?

Yeah, the answer is hard and I don't like it.

Because my satisfaction? It is not being found in Christ alone, but man. The source to which I look for my joy is temporary, and the security is fleeting. This world is imperfect. It is good to love the people but never to put your faith in them-- or anything else besides Him.

Admitting is cake. But the next step is killer. Yes, I believe. But am I willing to live it out? How does one go about not living for man?

It sure does feel good though, doesn't it? In the moment? And it's easier, too. Because Jesus, he assures us that choosing Him won't be. It is a fight against our flesh and a war against the Enemy. A war already won, but still to be fought.

The direct effects of insecurity don't seem too bad. Fix this here, do that there. But I can only plug so many holes before water pours in and puts out my match.

 Y'all? It. Is. HARD. To die to myself, to take up my cross. I almost never get it right. And most of the time, I can't seem to get a taste of the part that is supposed to make it all worth it.

But I know it is there. So I keep on for His sake. No matter how many times I go back and forth, faltering and wanting to give up-- no, in spite of it all, I raise my barley-lit match and release it to the land. That's all it takes. God says, "Watch this." Bigger and bigger becomes the wildfire.

And I know I am not alone.

We have to stick together. We must be encouragers, and those who push each other on. We must protect each others' matches to keep our wildfires going.

So here we are, match-lifters. Raise 'em up-- that thing about us, the Spirit of the Living God inside us, waiting to get started--and let them loose. Once the wildfires start, it's gonna take a heck of a lot to try and stop them.

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The wild girl is secure & unstoppable. A force to be reckoned with, for she loves her Jesus. 

Before the Resurrection

1... 2.

Day 2.

A world filled with sorrow, doubt, hopelessness, confusion, darkness. Death is mocking in its seeming defeat. The worst act of torture and evil ever to be done had just been witnessed. 

"Crucify him! Crucify him!" 

The cross is cause for celebration, but celebration doesn't feel right yet. Not now. I need to sit and stay awhile in the ache and devastation and anger first-- because He died. He died and suffered immeasurably hard. I cannot even come close to comprehending it. No words or emotions can do justice to it. Maybe that's the reason I am spending more time today staring at a blank computer screen than putting words on it. 

On my most recent trip overseas last month, the Lord reminded me of my sinful, wretched nature and my weakness. It was the first time in years that I shed tears in in prayer-- and they did not come shyly. I sat alone in a sacred space, singing out these words to Him: 

"And can it be that I should gain

An interest in the Savior's blood?

Died He for me, who caused His pain?

For me, who Him to death pursued?

Amazing love! How can it be

That Thou my God shouldst die for me?

... So free, so infinite His grace;

Emptied Himself of all but love"

Of all but love. What a kind of love, that would do such a thing. 

People mourned to the full before the resurrection. All they could hold onto in the waiting was Hope. Were Jesus' promises enough for them to keep the faith? Even as He lay in the tomb? 

They did not know what was coming. It wasn't over. 

And yet-- He waited three days. He let the darkness roll around in the dirt and feel its way in the world, knowing the world wasn't for it to keep. And He didn't do it just because He "felt like it." 

It takes the acknowledgement and lament of His extreme anguish to get to the sincerity of declaration and celebration of His rising. When did I reach the point where I thought of death on the cross as "just another" thing Jesus did? When did I forget that it was me who put Him on it? 

And here I am, bitterly regretful of my nail polish color choice. I don't get it. The What and the Why of the Cross-- how do they not fill my thoughts day and night?

Today has consisted of a lingering, painful ache in remembrance. The tomb with someone in it, not the empty one. It does the heart and soul well to let hurt-- because we know we aren't intended to stay there forever. The count doesn't end on 2.