Prayer > People > Production

Short thought of the day.

[Prayer > People > Production]

Meaning this:

Communing with God comes first. Like very, very, very first. Before anything. Knowing and loving Him is most important. Talking with Him and listening to Him. That’s what should set the tone.

Loving and knowing people. That’s secondly most important. Listening to them, walking with them, loving on them – creating community – it’s what the Church is about.

Last comes the work. The production. It needs to get done. It is important, but it never comes before God or His people. Never.

What’s amazing is how when you get the order right – it flows. When you make spending time with God the first priority it flows into your relationships. When you put others in front of your work the product becomes richer and better.

That’s what I’m working on. Being mindful of the current of my life.

Here’s to a new semester!

Passion 2012

#passion2012

One of my friends joked that this probably trended just from my tweets. Maybe so. It was that awesome. That even though I felt like a weirdo overly tweeting, I couldn’t pass an opportunity to document (even if in less than 140 characters) what God was presently doing by the power of His Spirit in that place.

How do you explain a 4 day gathering of college students raising over $3 million for the freedom of the 27 million slaves around the globe? You don’t.

You don’t because really you can’t.
For someone who likes explanations, who likes understanding the intricacies of the process, I am learning through experiences like this that we can’t explain God. We can’t explain His glory, why He is, who He is, or even what He does fully. That’s the beauty. That’s what makes Him God.

But when God shows up it’s obvious it’s Him.

He is on the scene. He is rearranging.
He is moving. He is calling.
He is changing. He is making new.
He is. He is. He is. He is.
It’s about Him.

How do you explain a 4 day gathering of college students raising over $3 million for the freedom of the 27 million slaves around the globe? God is here.

The event was big. I don’t know how to describe worshiping with 45,000 other people my age in one place. Maybe a good word would be…heavenly.

Something I loved about Passion was the level of authenticity and humility maintained. It was disproportionally higher than even the scale of the event. I’ll be honest to say that I was a little skeptical coming into it. I had very little expectations, but it was so big. There were so many renowned artists and speakers. But as their leadership commissioned us to be people of prayer and avidly sought out obedience to the Spirit’s promptings themselves…dude, it was all about Jesus.

That gave me so much hope. Hope that the Church is thriving, not just surviving. Hope and trust that God is true to His promises. That when we are submitted to Him He will show up. In ways that are huge. In ways that hold up to the skepticism of a world watching.

I see in myself this tendency to put logistics before leaning, production before prayer, business before stillness. I was reminded and shown at Passion that yes, certainly these things – logistics, production, the work – need to get done (how else would laser lights happen?), but they never supersede the heart of the Story. They never ever supersede Jesus, and whatever it means for us to be near to Him.

We are called to be people who live His Story, not just tell it.

Louie Giglio ended our last main session challenging us to put at the top of our prayer list the prayer from Ephesians 6:19. That we would be a people bold with the Good News of Jesus.

I’m excited to live that this semester with our campus.
It’s my hope that you would too. And that together we could be the Church.

Pray also for me, that whenever I open my mouth, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the Gospel. (Ephesians 6:19)

#passion2012

Special thanks to
Brooke Yarbrough & Joel Craig
(Eastview Christian Church)
for hooking me up!

Make A Beautiful Life

I was on the phone with one of my dearest friends the other night, and she was telling me about a family with less than ideal circumstances being pregnant again. Their baby is going to be born with some mighty odds stacked against her. Telling me about this, my friend said something that has been overtaking my mind these last few days.

I guess she will have to make a beautiful life because she’s not being given one.

Something about the idea – make a beautiful life – resonates deeply with me.
Isn’t that what we all vie for? Beautiful lives?
Lives that people pause to take in. Lives that tell a good story. Lives that mean something.

Few of us are given beautiful lives. Few of us ever make them.

In this season of Advent, of waiting with eager and expectant hearts for a Savior, I think about His life.

I’m not sure He was given a beautiful life.

Born into a manger, with stinky animals all around, to some girl that was probably shunned by society for being pregnant with a child that wasn’t her fiance’s.

I’m not sure He was given a beautiful life.

But, man, did He make one.

His life ended in a gruesome death.
But a death that led to resurrection.
A death that led to hope.
A death that led to life.

So that we can all make beautiful lives.

What worse odds are there than death?
But He overcame.

He came for us.
A beautiful life is possible.

It’s a daunting task to make a beautiful life. But there is a Life that defines beauty itself.  And He is singing over us. He calls us to Himself. This Life fills our lives with colors, songs, hues, poetry, shading, lights, dancing. This Life offers beauty uncreatable by human hands. This Life is ours. Today and for the rest of forever if we want it.

See, what’s really amazing about making a beautiful life is that the most beautiful lives are actually remade. And that isn’t work we have to do ourselves.

Make a beautiful life.
Let the heart of the Maker of the heavens, the earth, every star, every gangly giraffe, every tossed wave, and every gnarly tree captivate you and show you what He’s always made you to be.
Let Him work with you to build something good. To create something new. To make something beautiful.
Make a beautiful life.

Few of us are given beautiful lives. Few of us ever make them.
All of us are offered them.

We all want lives that people pause to take in.
That tell a good story.
That mean something.

And maybe that starts when we pause to take in the very best Story that means everything.

The Story of a baby with all the mightiest odds stacked against Him. The Story of a baby who made His life beautiful. The Story of a baby who makes yours and mine beautiful too.

Merry Christmas.

Planting In The Harvest

It is the season of harvest.

I am currently residing in central Illinois where we have quite the surplus of cornfields, and day by day I have been watching the horizon get wider around me – meaning they are cutting that stuff DOWN. Harvest. The bringing it all in. The return for your investment. It’s that time.

I am living in the season of harvest.

As much as this reality is very apparent to me I also feel quite conflicted with it. I’ve been mulling these words over and over in my head.

While living in a season of harvest, I am planting.
And that makes no sense.

Yet I think this is what God is asking of me.

What I’ve come to realize is that I have been living in the season of planting for a long time. But the moments where I’ve had to be the planter have been few compared to the moments where I was allowed to just be the soil. These last couple years have been characterized by God tilling my earth – watering, nurturing, making it a place where things could actually grow. Making it good soil.

And sometimes it didn’t feel so good. Sometimes becoming good soil felt more like an earthquake, where my fault lines were shifted in ways that I lost comprehension of the word “foundation”. Sometimes becoming good soil felt more like a desert, where I was scorched and thirsty, desperate, dying, and lonely.

But what has made me see God’s intentions, His desire for good soil, is a very simple thing: growth.

Despite feeling like an earthquake. Despite feeling like a desert. I have grown. And things have grown in me.

Things like my deep conviction that we are made with purpose and made for community. That we truly are better together. Things like we are created to create. That in some fashion or another, we are all artists. Because we have been made in the image of the ultimate Creator. Things like God deserves my very best because He did not withhold His best from me.

These things that began as seeds have grown into trees. I have something living – limbs outstretched and rooted deeply – inside of the broken vessel I call my heart. Vines have grown through the cracks, and what seemed broken and useless has found reason to be.

But an important thing that I must not forget to mention is that the trees had to be planted…by someone. Or maybe even better…someones. Sometimes these trees were sown as seeds, sometimes they were driven into the earth of my heart as springy saplings, but the common factor is that it was done over and over again.

It wasn’t just one seed sown. It wasn’t just one tree planted. It was planting, replanting, watering, nourishing. Over and over and over again. Sometimes I uprooted the trees. With harsh words, a bad attitude, bitter thoughts, apathetic hands, a crowded heart. But now looking at this process with a new a heart I see the people who were faithful to the Gardener, who were faithful to being planters, who didn’t give up every time I ripped up a tree and tossed it in their faces. Their patience, kindness, encouragement, creativity, and leadership have changed me. Actually, they continue to change me.

Now in this new season, though my soil is not fully good or done being tilled, it is my turn to be a planter. To be the one who speaks about Hope that fills and changes. The Hope that really exists. To be the one who listens to the words of others, even the words that seem to go in circles and never get anywhere new. To be the one that gets to see growth not just in myself but in those around me. To be the one who celebrates and thanks the One who makes it all come together. The One who brings it all in. The harvest.

I am praying for a forest in these barren plains.
I am praying for much fruit.

I am planting in the harvest.
Because of those who have planted before me.
And ultimately for the One who has rooted me.

Cheese Air & Ravine Singing

I’m back at school. I’ve technically been back at school since August 10th. We just finished up week 2 of actual school, like actual classes and homework and all that. It’s been busy to say the least.

Thursday was the first day of September, and it was 106 degrees. That is one way to start a fall month (I consider September a fall month even though the beginning is still kind of summery here). It’s really humid in this section of the country. That day whenenever I stepped outside it was like I was trying to breathe in cheese sauce. The air was so thick and gooey…and hot. It made me feel crazy just breathing.

That’s where I’m at in life a lot of days. Breathing in cheese sauce. Feeling hectic by existence.

The hot temperatures these days have been reminding me of Texas. I felt less like I was breathing in cheese sauce there, and more like I was being made crispy like a potato chip.

The other day when I had 800 million of things to do I decided to take a moment and sit outside on a red bench under the clarity of the sun, under the heaviness of the air, and I thought about being still. I thought about those random nights in San Angelo, Texas when we would go out into the darkness of the night to just be with God. I thought about sitting on the dirt under the stars. I thought about overlooking a ravine while being bitten by ants. I thought about being secluded by mesquite trees and playing guitar, singing toward the sky.

Those were moments of sweet freedom. My chaos released into the air with every word sung out, taken away with each dissipating shooting star. It seemed easier then. Nothing was stopping me from throwing it all out there.

Well what now?

I guess I am uncovering the realization that I am still breathing. That although the air may feel thicker here, though there are no ravines in these flatlands to sing over, there is still air to draw into my lungs. It doesn’t matter that it may feel as thick as cheese sauce. I may lack the feeling of serenity, but the God of peace is still placing stars in the sky, breathing into me. And I will sing for Him.

I will sing to Him over a ravine. I will sing to Him on red benches. I will sing to Him in Texas, New Hampshire, Illinois. I will sing to Him in a chapel. I will sing to Him in the emptiness of my room on Labor Day weekend.

I will sing to Him. I will sing about Him. I will sing for Him.

And I will breathe in, letting whatever thickness of air overtake my lungs, to breathe out a sigh of relief that I have a reason to sing.

7/28 – Texas Update (Goodbye, San Angelo)

It is drawing to an end. Somewhat abruptly.

2 months has gone by rather quickly. There were days that seemed unending and painfully long, but at this point it is almost over. And it’s hitting me in the face like a splash of cool water. In many ways these past 2 months have been a blur, but simultaneously the memories are so very clear. I can still taste them. I can still remember the places that I’ve stood, the people that I’ve hugged, the words that have spoken to me, and the words that have been spoken out of me.

Many, many, many, many, many prayers.
It’s been a beautiful 2 months indeed.

I said several good-byes tonight. I kind of hate those. I am proud to say I have yet to cry.

I didn’t blog about big kids’ camp. You’ll have to hear about that from my mouth. Face-to-face, or over Skype, or over the phone. You should know that it was powerful. It was unexpected. It was life-giving and life-changing. And when anything is labeled these things we can be confident that God was there.

I will be leaving San Angelo, TX at about 9:30 AM tomorrow. I will be headed to Midland, TX. My plane jets off at 1:00 PM. I will fly from Midland to Dallas to St. Louis and finally to Boston. I will land in Boston at about 8:35 PM. I will sleep in the back of the car as we drive those 45 minutes back to my sweet New Hampshire. I will debate about going to bed.

Today a friend asked me whether I feel ready to leave. I can say quite plainly that I am not feeling it. And yet I have felt God whisper to me these past few days that though I don’t feel prepared in any which way, that He has prepared me. I am ready. Confidence.

Whispers are difficult. They’re so soft…and also kind of creepy. But when you know a voice, even the gentlest of syllables are familiar. The quietest of whispers can create courage. I am learning to listen to the whispers of my God.

Most people who know me know that I think a lot. However…I never thought I would spend a summer in Texas. I never thought I’d spend a summer working with kids. I never thought I’d meet the people that I’ve met. And I’m seeing that often it’s in the things that I have not turned over and over in my mind that God does amazing work. San Angelo, TX will forever be to me a place full of cherished memories, dear friends, and much learning.

___________________________________________________________________________

To My Friends At House Of Faith:

Thank you for the incredible experience of serving with you, learning with you, and growing with you. Thank you for what you’ve all taught me about compassion and love. Thank you for helping me not be a shut-in this summer and get some sun on my skin. 

It has been a gift to love you guys and to be loved by you guys. I will not quickly forget all that you’ve taught me. I actually hope that I don’t forget at all. So you can pray for me about that.

Thank you for showing me that the work is in the prayer. Thank you for teaching me the value of perseverance. Thank you for letting me hang out with your kids, and, in that, thank you for changing my heart. The sweetness of your guys’ love has touched me deeply. It has opened my eyes to the power of the Spirit, and it continues to help me see what is ahead in the Kingdom. 

It was my total joy to spend time with you these past 2 months. I will be continually praying for all of you. I hope God allows our stories to intersect again in the near future.

All my love,
-Christine 

What My Eyes Are Seeing

I wish I could show you what my eyes are seeing

The things that are being unveiled before me

The stripping away of the layers of dirt and filth

The breaking down of the cracked walls

________________________________________________

Walls put up involuntarily

Boxed in with little room to breathe

Caving in no view of escape

Walls built up voluntarily

Staying within the square of the box

Eyes adjusted to the darkness of the cavern

________________________________________________

But I wish I could show you what my eyes are seeing

Hope creeping up like ivy in the cracks

Loosening the mortar

Reaching for what is above

Climbing without knowledge of the top

Hope knows no end

Hope looks not always at the top but sometimes at the present

At the level right within reach

And it transforms

The crumbling wall turned into a home

For unfolding leaves of all shades of green

________________________________________________

A broken wall

A broken home

But a home for a King

The One who asks to live inside of me

Walls come down

________________________________________________

My home is messy

But open

My arms are quivering

But reaching

My eyes are closed

But seeing

My voice is cracked

But singing

________________________________________________

Because You are here

And You are what my eyes are seeing

7/11 – Texas Update (46 CAMP)

I have been in San Angelo, TX a whole whoppin’ 41 days now. And I am leaving in a short 18. That is almost unbelievable to me. It is certainly difficult to imagine.

I confess that I have never felt so displaced in any other season of my life. There have been many changes in the places I have called “home” for a long time. I know my “home” at school is incredibly temporary. And here we have another place, another “home”. My time here is short too, but that doesn’t make me want to stop embracing it anytime soon. This home is temporary. All my homes on planet earth are temporary. So in my displacement, in this diaspora, I am venturing on a journey back Home. To the heart of my God. A place of safety. A place of rest. A place where I belong. And what is beautiful about this Home is that I get to taste it in these little “homes” here on earth. San Angelo, TX – I’d never really want to live in you for an extended period of time, but your people have captivated my heart, so I’m giving you the label of “weird home”. Weird as in I don’t really know why I feel this natural affinity to this brown, very dry, very hot space of Texas. Home as in regardless of the peculiarity the affinity is there undeniably.

This past week I went to 46 Camp…aka camp for 4th-6th graders. I think it’s pretty easy to say that was the most physically exhausting thing I have ever experienced. When I got back to our house on Friday I had literally 7 narcoleptic naps. I was sitting at the dining table talking to my roommates and then fell asleep. I read a book in my room and fell asleep. I texted some people and fell asleep. I drank some Dr. Pepper and fell asleep. If anyone’s life captured “completely lame” at any moment in the time space continuum, I would like to petition that mine did that pretty well on Friday.

Let me tell you some amazing stories from camp. You should know now that “amazing” can mean both “GOD IS REAL/MIRACLES ARE HAPPENING amazing” and “THESE CHILDREN ARE DRIVING ME BONKERS AND I’M GOING TO LAUGH AT THEM amazing”.

I had the privilege of having Kylie be my co-counselor. She is truly tremendous. I have met few women as honest and delightful as she. We balanced each other out pretty well. She was tender and nurturing to the kids. And I laughed at them and told them to get over stuff.

First off, within 10 minutes of getting into our cabin this little girl named Christa (who might be the most high maintenance 10-year-old I have ever met) fell through her bunk. Literally fell through. And she was top. Oops. I am now going to tell you several hilarious stories about this little girl. Please picture in your head a tiny girl with glasses and a lisp.

• On Tuesday night after our first full day at camp we were trying to get all our girls showered and to bed. Christa refused to shower, so Kylie had to take her aside and talk to her. When the talk was over Christa scrambled back onto her bed, and when Kylie went over to tell her (yet again) that showers were indeed mandatory these are the words that came from her mouth: “I’M TIRED AND GRUMPY. AND I’M GRUMPY AND I’M TIRED. PLUS I HAVE HORMONESTH!!!” Okay, little girl, you are 10-years-old. I’m just sayin’.
• One morning Christa fell out of her bed. I don’t really know how she toppled down like that, but this girl seems to do the impossible all the time. Immediately she begins to throw this enormous tantrum, flailing her arms in every direction. “I CAN’T FIND MY BANDANA. I DON’T KNOW WHERE IT IS. WHAT THE HECK!!!!!!” My response, “Sweetie, it’s wrapped around your neck…” Her response? “Oh. Hey, I’m funny!” Yeah about that…
• Christa also had a tendency to leave her stuff everywhere, and we had to have multiple talks with her about being responsible for her things, especially at camp when Kylie and I were also responsible for 10 other rambunctious girls. One afternoon during rest time Christa had inevitably lost something and quickly began to accuse people of stealing it. Kylie decided to be the good counselor and have a tender-hearted teaching moment, while firmly rebuking such quick accusations. I know, she’s pretty legit.

  Kylie: “Now, Christa, I know it’s really easy to lose things, but we just have to be really careful, especially here at camp because there are so many people. Remember all those other times we talked about that? I totally understand where y0u’re coming from, at home I lose things all the time too, but we just have to be mindful.”
  Christa: “It’s okay, I’m a loser too. …I MEAN LIKE I LOSE THINGS NOT LIKE, WELL Y’KNOW!”

  I almost peed my pants from laughing so hard. Good teaching moment…gone just like that.

Also, at camp I was in this morning show skit called The Jane Cho Tom Show, where I talked in this ridiculous Asian accent (thank you Tom Shaughnessy) and signed off with the line – keep da fohtune in yo cookie!
Needless to say camp became one big Asian joke. Just like the rest of my life.

Aside from hilarious little girls and teaching children how to be racist God really did some amazing things in this short, exhausting week. One of my campers from Sports Camp was in my group again for 46 camp. Haliegh. I had to pull her aside for a conversation within the first 30 minutes we were together. Certainly bad attitudes get even the best of us…

I told her that she was one of the oldest girls in the group and that she was an awesome leader, but she needs to learn to use those leadership skills for good rather than influencing others for bad. Before you applaud me for these words of wisdom you should know I had the same talk given to me by my mentor, Michele Downen, when I was in 7th grade and manipulated every conversation in small group to be about my dog. I was really annoying. And I used my skills for evil. You can ask Michele, she’ll tell you without hesitation.

The change we saw in Haliegh was incredible. She became our go-to girl to lead us in prayer, and she quieted the other girls down for us. Sometimes she got a little bossy, so that’s when I said, “HEY! That’s my job.” When all of us from HoF went out to get pizza after we got back from camp Marci rushed in and told all of us that Haliegh had called her and told her she had shared with one of her grandmother’s friends what she had learned at camp – that she really is a leader and can influence people for good – and that man she shared with decided he wanted to donate $50 to House of Faith. God’s pretty dang cool, huh?

I will not quickly forget camp. In fact I hope to remember it for a very long time – like the rest of my life kind of long. The images of kids singing “Our God” eyes closed, experiencing God for perhaps the very first time, being hugged tightly as tears stream down my little girls’ faces as they talk about their broken families, being sprayed in the face by their water bottles and laughed at for twitching uncontrollably, having sweet notes written to me by Erika G. before I went to bed, being asked to sing “Beautiful Things” and “Our God” again and again and again before they fell asleep are maybe eraseable from my mind, but permanent on my heart.

God is continuing to break my heart for the kids here in San Angelo and He is renewing me each day by showing me the work of His heart – how it restores, how it heals, and how it changes me every second of every day.

I am grateful to be here. The people I am getting to know more each day bring delight to my soul. I may not know where I am to settle, but I do know that my restlessness can be a source of passionate movement rather than anxious stagnancy. I am finding more reasons to say “thank you” with each day, with each laugh, with each hug, with each breath. I am overwhelmed by goodness because I certainly do not deserve life like this. I never thought life could be so entirely marked by grace, and I am thankful.

6/30/11 – Texas Update

Lots of activities and events have happened since I’ve written last. I could tell you about all of them. I could tell you about Kids Connection (WATER DAY), prepping for camp, Short Stack Attack (aka IHOP pancake palooza), singing worship songs over a ravine by starlight, discipleship groups, and eating – so much eating. And maybe I’ll tell you about some of those things, but mostly I want to tell you about the people here. The people I am meeting, the people I am getting to know, the people I have come to love – the people that have earned their own room in the house that is my heart.

I will tell you about a boy named Gabe. He calls me “Chuckie”, and this past Monday I found out that it’s a reference to the red-headed, buck-toothed boy from the Rugrats. Awesome. He also told me that day that I smelled like meat. Even more awesome. He also told me that he wanted to hug me for forever. Pretty great, huh?

Gabe has learning disabilities and is so sweet that it forces me, in my tendency toward busyness and bitterness, to stop and to play and to laugh and to let go and to taste the sweetness that is found in every bite of life. I forget to taste often. Any of you who know me and my eating habits…I am definitely a wolfer. I wolf that food down like I haven’t eaten in weeks. But the thing is when you wolf you never taste. You miss the sweet, you miss the flavors that come alive when you chew slowly, and you’re left feeling extremely bloated and perhaps very nauseous 15 minutes after your meal. I speak from experience. Lots of it. Kids like Gabe remind me that whatever I’m doing in my days I need to chew slowly. So that I can savor every bit of goodness that is sent my way. So I don’t miss it. And so when life really is bitter I don’t forget how the sweet tastes.

I will tell you about Eva, a staff member at HoF, who makes me laugh in a way that drenches my entire being with joy. It may be the way that she tells Mexican jokes (she is Mexican), it may be the way she dresses like a hipster while confessing her childhood past of being a thug wearing jnco jeans, it may be the way her eyes light up when she talks about Jesus, it may be the way the world seems still for just the right amount of time when she worships – I just like her. This woman speaks her heart and never withholds a laugh. I want to be like that more.

I will tell you about Tara, another staff member at HoF, and her generosity to me. Her encouraging text messages, quickness to pray for me, always being available to give me a ride to any place I need to go, and her hospitality in inviting me to her home to eat spaghetti and play with her guinea pig, Lucy, – these are the things changing me. The simple exchange of a pat on the shoulder, or maybe a beating with a rubber pig – all memories I am forming here that are teaching me about hope and community. If there’s anyone that teaches me about living what you truly believe it’s Tara. That attitude goes a bit like this: You believe that people should be loved? Then stop talking about and just go do it. There’s an unspoken confidence when Tara’s on a mission. I need to learn that.

I will also tell you about a 7th grade student telling me about her struggle to forgive her dad, and then hearing her pray, “God, I’m choosing to forgive my dad. I ask that you help me, and I ask that you take Him into your heart.” The reasons for her struggle are more than justified in my eyes. I have never faced such incomprehensible hurt, and yet I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered courage quite like that. You’ll have to hear the full story in person.

I will tell you about Chelsey taping fork ends to her fingers and chasing people around the warehouse like a raptor. I will tell you about her pouring out her love into her kids by spending extra time with them outside of work, her randomly sticking of her fingers up people’s noses, and her deep seeking of the things of God’s heart. I really like talking with Chelsey because when she is thinking and when she is about to say what she has thought it’s like her whole being participates in the deliverance. She is present with her words. And I want that in my life too.

I will tell you about watching Cars 2 while holding hands with a 6th grader named Erika G. as she scolds me for my nail biting and tells me she likes my “little Chinese phone”.

The idea is that I’m finding friendships here that are valuable beyond measure and are bringing peace to my restlessness. I am with more questions than ever. But as I see God move in all these stories, all these people, I am mostly finding a lot of answers to questions that I never even asked. Maybe I’m learning that I need to ask better questions.

I am tired, and little kids’ overnight camp is next week. It’s going to be pure insanity. Pray for me.

But to finish this up, to bring it all together – what links all these stories, and even these last comments on my exhaustion, is one thing: God is good. He really is. He is doing things that my hands could never bring together, that none of our hands together could bring together. He is doing work that my mind cannot understand, that my eyes can’t even see, but I trust that it’s happening. And when He shows me I’ll tell you about it.

I’ll leave you with the lyrics from a song I’ve been listening to a lot these past couple days.

Higher than the mountains that I face
Stronger than the power of the grave
Constant through the trials and in the change
One thing remains

Your love never fails, never gives up, never runs out on me.

On and on and on and on it goes
It overwhelms and satisfies my soul
And I never ever have to be afraid
One thing remains

In death, in life I’m confident and covered by the power of Your great love
My debt is paid there’s nothing that can separate my heart from Your great love

6/17/11 – Texas Update (Sports Camps Are OVER)

It’s been a crazy week. Literally.
Like moments of lose-my-mind crazy.

I’m going to recap for all of you House of Faith Sports Camp 2011 (Christine Lee remix).

Monday:
The morning is buzzing with insanity as everyone at HoF prepares for the start of Sports Camp. I am excited and a little bit worried about what is about to go down. I mostly have no idea. I realized that I still had no idea when I hop onto the bus as the newly named “Goliad Bus Captain”. I realize even more how unprepared I am when a myriad of children swarm toward the bus and all I am armed with are my aviators to hide the fear lurking in my eyes, my deodorant that keeps the nervous sweat under control, and my purple clipboard that has a list with all their names. I recognized and knew some of the kids from previous events though so that was helpful and somewhat calming.

This week I am scheduled to be at the Lincoln gym. Lincoln is one of the middle schools here in town. Sweet irony. Gotta love it. At the Lincoln gym was 6-8th grade girls volleyball and basketball. I know about basketball from those horrid childhood years when my parents wanted me to be well-rounded so I played that sport like a confused squirrel thrown into a cage full of rabid dogs. And volleyball? Well…I live with a bunch of volleyball players at school. Does that count?

To say that first day was a hard day would be an understatement. I had those kids - the incessantly talking, wandering, back-talking, smart-aleck kids that couldn’t follow any of the rules and always had a reason why I was wrong and they could do whatever they wanted. There were times when I wanted to rip each of my limbs off one by one and throw them around the court. God taught me that first day that I just can’t do it. It doesn’t matter how eloquently, intellectually, or hilariously I can string a load of words together. This is a whole new type of game, and I don’t know the rules.

I taught the lesson on Light Vs. Darkness this first day. Most of the girls were surprisingly great listeners. Except for my little group. They are out of control. Have I told you that kids aren’t my thing?

So realizing at the end of that day that these girls are beyond me was a good starting place. It left me desperate for God to do something great because all I got is a breakdown in the making. I find that it’s often when we are desperate enough to realize that we are not able – that nothing of long-lasting importance can be done on our own capacity – is when God does His best work because that’s when we are empty enough, open enough, willing, and available for the Spirit to come fill.

Tuesday:
I have a better grip of what I’m doing as bus captain. I am feeling entirely inadequate for another day with my girls. I am armed with 10 mini-legal notepads and 10 freshly sharpened pencils hoping that if we write our words it will filter out a lot of the mean ones that come from our mouths.

We arrive at Lincoln and it is drama galore. I think each of my girls were taken out for private conversations multiple times. These types of talks continue throughout the first hour and a half.

Ironically today’s lesson is on good speech. In an attempt to drive home the importance of not only speaking good words but listening to good words I talk about how often we let garbage into our ears. This is where my reference to Ke$ha comes in. How many of us wake up in the morning feeling like a black man? Probably none of the 6-8th grade girls in that room. Mission accomplished.

Huddle time. This is essentially small group time. I think we are all tired from the trillions of talks throughout the day. I pull out the legal notepads saying, “I’ve noticed it’s a little bit hard for us to use our words well when we talk, so I picked these up for you guys and we’re going to write today.” One of the really difficult girls, Haliegh, says to me, “Thank you so much for spending your time and money to get these for us.” A surprisingly sweet moment. Unexpected goodness. I find that this is also often how God works. I hand out the pencils and warn that if anyone stabs anyone else with these they will be in big trouble. Somewhat empty words because I don’t know what I’d do other than cry hysterically if there was a pencil shanking in my small group.

Some girls still had some trouble focusing, but ultimately writing was much more productive for them all. So that night I prayed that the work that God was doing in their hearts would be so much deeper than my eyes could see, and I thanked Him many times for the moments when He gave my eyes a peek at His work, like a simple thank you for a pad of yellow paper.

Wednesday:
I am tired. I don’t think I have sweat so much in my entire life than in these last 3 days. Texas is really hot. Overall, this was a good day at Sports Camps. There was drama, but it was minimal. My girls actually listened to the coaches and to me pretty well throughout the day.

During huddle time my biggest instigator, Cambree, is pouting. She says something snarky (which I don’t really remember), and 2 of the girls pipe up quickly, “That’s not nice!” I feel like some of that was actually in mockery of me, but hey, I’ll take what I can get. At least they are acknowledging that it’s not nice in a weird, twisted way. Haliegh, sputters a laugh, but then quickly looks at me and says, “I’m sorry! Sometimes I can’t help but to laugh, but I really am trying!” That made me smile. Can we spell P-R-O-G-R-E-S-S? Hallelujah!

Kylie, another intern, taught the lesson that day. She did a great job. I really like Kylie. She is funny without trying, blunt unintentionally, and I think her heart is made of melty chocolate, the shiniest gold, pretty flowers, all mixed in with some fire and a protein shake.

The bus ride home is out of control. I think I set a new record of how many times a person can say “sit your bottom on the seat, please” in 15 minutes. If naps didn’t make me so cranky afterward I would take 7.

Thursday:
It’s the last day of Sports Camps!  Preparation for the day is a blur. All I remember is Kylie telling me about how one of the girls at our site doesn’t have sneakers, and she is the only one without. Kylie suddenly exclaims excitedly, “Oh! I totally have an extra pair of shoes in my car. Remind me to bring them for her to wear!” Okay, I can do that.

It’s a pretty chill day. I am somewhat disconnected mentally, being thoroughly exhausted. While the girls play volleyball and basketball Kylie and I begin packing up supplies, and finishing up writing out last minute awards. There’s no teaching time today, just a presentation from each huddle leader to their small group on what awards they earned. Every kid at HoF Sports Camps gets an award. Every kid is special. These kids need to know that.

Also, all my girls learned the long version of the memory verse. Ephesians 5:14-15. I’m proud of them. Considering we began the week with girls saying God should be thankful for them because of how awesome they are after prayer, for them to actually do the work of learning the memory verse was seriously a big deal.

At the end of the camp day I am standing next to Kylie and the girl that Kylie let wear her shoes ran up to us.

“You want your shoes back?”

These aren’t just like janky sneakers. These are legit Nike sneaks with the fancy shocks on the bottom.

“Girl, if you’ll wear them you can keep them.”

There is something about witnessing generosity like that. Something about seeing people give so freely gives me hope. Hope that perhaps I can give like that too. Hope that the Gospel isn’t lost in just words, but does flow out into action. Beautiful, bold, loving actions.

That night was the Sports Banquet where families are invited to come see their children be presented with their awards from camp. Those kids are so excited to share with their families their progress. It’s quite endearing. Even when your girls are a little bit wacko and you feel like the world is spinning.

This week my heart broke for San Angelo, TX. I am seeing more why God has sent me here.

A lot of times in my moments of deepest frustration God makes it quite evident to me how much of me and my past tendencies are in these kids. There were (and still are) people in my life that didn’t give up when I was snarky, out of control, and downright mean. I needed these people to tell me that where I come from doesn’t need to define who I become. This week I realized that it’s now my turn to be the one that speaks those words. And I am more than hopeful. I am hope-filled that in persistence, surrender, and growing compassion that, just like in my life, it will make all the difference.

God is good. Always.
I am learning that in new ways.