Hunger

I've been stuck in bed for the last five days with the worst cold I've had in an awfully long time.

Between a raging fever, body aches, chills, a stinging throat, and Nyquil hallucinations, I've been miserable.

Yesterday I noticed white spots my tonsils. I sat in the doctor's office, shivering, as they swabbed the back of my throat and drew blood. They sent me on my way with a bottle of penicillin and a handful of pain killers and fever reducers.

I crawled in bed, my overly-dramatic self certain that I was on the brink of death.

Then today I felt a strange sensation that I had not experienced in days.

Hunger.


I was simply hungry.
There was still life in me. My body was still functioning, functioning so much so that it needed to be replenished.

Hunger is an interesting case. It can only be satisfied by one thing: food. Sure, other things can dull the pains for a while, but we will surely die if food does not enter our bodies. Carbohydrates, proteins, fats - all what my body needed and craved. A steamy bowl of chicken noodle soup was the only thing that would solve my problem (and be swallowed by my swollen throat).

Yet this single bowl of soup would not suffice for the rest of my life. We are constantly on the prowl for food, eating several times a day. We are so incredibly fragile and needy.

Hunger reminds us that we are alive. It reminds us that we have needs, that we are mortal humans, that there is something out there greater than ourselves and that we cannot survive alone.

Yet Jesus says that man does not live on bread (or soup) alone.

We have another hunger, one that is greater than a craving for macaroni and cheese or berry smoothies. We are created with eternity set in all of our hearts, and we are hungry for it. We crave a Christ that we may or may not know. It is an innate desire that is central to our existence; a pain that can be temporarily soothed by other forces, yet only one can truly satisfy.

It is a hungry that is constantly needed to be refilled, lest we become starved and malnourished. Like a hungry child, we become angry and bitter when we have not eaten from the table of the Lord for too long. We listen, read, pray, watch, serve, and sing all in attempts to create a balanced diet that will leave us full - yet the more we experience, the more hungry we become the next time. It is a strange paradigm. The nutrition we consume is too good to miss, to satisfying to pass on. Our stomachs grow and we become able to consume more, complex foods.

Our separation from Christ leaves us hungry, a pain that can only be soothed by the presence of Him; it is a pain that reminds us that we cannot survive on our own.

Jesus answered, "It is written: 'Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.'"

Matthew 4:4

Hephzibah

"No longer will they call you Deserted,

or name your land Desolate.

But you will be called Hephzibah..."

-- Isaiah 62:4a

Hephzibah.

It means "my delight is in her". The delight of the Lord is in Israel, a nation of disobedience and desolation. It is in a nation he made new, a nation he redeemed and restored.

Today I was at David C. Cook's The Gathering, a family ministry conference in Orange County. We were asked to pick one word that describes our story and what God has done.

I chose new.

A sweet friend/mentor of mine took me to Laguna Beach last night. It was dark, but we stared out at the ocean. Before my eyes could adjust, it was a scary deep black mass of nothing. Slowly the white of the crashing waves became clear followed by the outline of crags and rocks. The familiar sound of the roaring ocean was accompanied by the new noise of seals barking.

Part of me was absolutely terrified - a horrible mix of my fear of rolling down a cliff, drowning, being crushed between rocks and waves, and the dark. It was a little unrealistic and a little over dramatic.

But as I looked out at the Pacific, I choked back tears. Not because I was certain that at any moment I was going to fall over the edge of the cliff and into the abyss, but because I was overcome with all that God has done. I am still paralyzed by gratitude and awe when I think of where I was and where I am today.

I looked up at my friend, "It's so crazy." She was puzzled and asked me what I was talking about. "I can't believe I live in California," I said, realizing that what I was thinking could not be properly expressed in words. In that moment, there was too much awe, too much thankfulness. My mind was swimming with thoughts of all of the blessings the Lord has given me.

I am made new.
I am redeemed, restored, healed, cleaned and made whole.
I have been given a life I don't deserve, a life full of grace and mercy.

If grace is an ocean and we're all sinking, then yes, let me roll down that cliff and drown in the sea. Let the roar of the waves come over me. The grace of God is uncontainable, and I don't want to simply float or tread water. I want to be completely overtaken by his power, his goodness.

Today I came back home from the conference.
I found myself pounded against the rocks in an ocean overtaken by frustration and disappointment rather than grace.

I saw my grades.
I cried.
I was a failure in my mind.

Then I cried again (I've been a little dramatic this week).
Like when my eyes adjusted to see the majesty of the ocean rather than scary darkness, my mind settled to realize that this is not where my value lies.

While the Lord's delight has been in me, my delight hasn't been in Him.

My identity has been found in things of this world - my grades, my body, my success, my money, my crafting, my good deeds, my friends, my writing, my family, my sickness, my work.

He made me new. I am no longer identified by these things. I am his and he is mine.

I worship a God of strength, a God who created the entire universe - yet he takes delight in little old me, the girl who is afraid of the dark. Who am I to delight in anything but him?

Rallies and radicals

I made a new friend.

She's a beautiful person doing beautiful things with her beautiful heart.

She's been wrestling the same questions that have burdened me this semester.
How do we serve God without making people into projects?
How do we maintain our humility?
How do we address conflict in ministry?
How do we incorporate prayer?
How do we know it's the voice of God?

She humbly introduced me to a ministry she started as a class assignment yet has continued throughout the entire year. She adopted a neighborhood next to campus, returning each Friday with a handful of friends to hang out and mentor the kids on the block. As we walked down the street, a dozen kids or so came scurrying over to her. She addressed them each by name. She knew them and they knew her.

I was talking to another sweet friend last night. With the rise of Kony 2012, I have done a lot of thinking about our generation - we are "movement happy". The main complaint by critics has been "Give it a week."

While our cries for social equality are noble, they are short-lived and half-hearted. We shouldn't be a generation of movements, but rather, a generation of justice. Movements imply that a bunch of us will rise up for a couple of weeks, protest, make posters, share a few viral videos, and then sit back down once the fad is over. Living out justice requires an upright posture that is unwavering.

If we're chasing after movements, then we're simply a bunch of punk kids with pent up time and energy.
We're just a some middle-upper class students in our cool new t-shirts, posing with a dark-skinned child for our Facebook profile picture, tagging all of our friends.

But this new friend I made is looking to relocate to the neighborhood she is ministering too. She prays with them and she prays for them.

I read an article today about why the world needs "boring Christians". The world needs Christians who are willing to spend their summers in Africa or move their family into the bush - yet the world also needs Christians who are willing to stay in their mundane lives, Christians who say no to leading a radical life for the sake of adventure.

The Kingdom is extravagant, but Kingdom work isn't necessarily anything special. Preparing ourselves may mean Gen Bio homework. Our work may involve scrubbing toilets or reading the newspaper. Sharing the gospel may be through a simple girl hanging out with kids on a graffiti-covered street corner.

She really isn't being radical. She isn't doing anything crazy. She's just loving.

She isn't moving to a foreign nation and wearing a skirt of fig leaves. She's walking a block away to a neighborhood that is otherwise neglected.

There's no stipend, no rallies or protests, no trendy logos. She's not looking to save the world or become the next Shane Claiborne. She's just an ordinary person with an extraordinary God.

Monasteries and apartments

"It all started with a box

and twelve broken people who had no idea 

that what they would experience together 

would be the molding they needed to call themselves whole."

-- Excerpt from poem by student A. Wilburn

I saw the above verse on a photo caption on Facebook of a dear friend reminiscing about how beautiful and impacting his year has been.

One of my professors has imparted on me some great wisdom. Contrary to popular belief, two halves don't make a whole. Two wholes make a whole. Saying "I found my other half!" is essentially saying "I don't know who I am, and I found somebody who is letting me escape myself for the moment."

Being whole can be the greatest gift you give somebody, yet it is not something that comes easily nor does it come alone. It's a long, often painful, always beautiful process that requires God and each other.

I've recently become intrigued (aka obsessed) with the New Monastic movement (read as: Christian hippies) I read about in a book for class. Maybe I am becoming a "radical", maybe I am "emerging" - but this is beautiful. It's a movement of people, mostly young, who are finding that it is high time the church actually be the church. Without getting too nerdy and overly historical, the church lost a lot of its followers when we moved into an era that sought proof for belief. Today, our "proof" is found in the way we live, in our testimonies and our actions.

New Monasticism draws from ancient traditions, honors the surrounding culture, acknowledges dignity for all people, and values spiritual discipline. They are economically and environmentally conscious, realizing the impact we all have on our world.  Rather than visiting a ministry site every now and then, the movement advocates for believers to be the ministry site and move into the community they are reaching out to. It requires an immense amount of trust and sacrifice. But Jesus wasn't kidding when He said that to find our lives we must lose them. These bodies, this time, it's not our own.

They seek to create both individuals and communities that are whole.

I have become disgusted with myself this year over the amount of joy I find in things. I have realized the amount of stuff I have and do not use, the amount of purchases I make and do not need. I went through an intense season of evaluating whether or not I would be willing to be a missionary and have decided that I never want material possessions (or the lack thereof) to stand in the way. I have come to admire people who are able to pack up and leave, carrying everything they need on their back. I am far from that kind of simplicity, but I want to live a life that allows me to be both more generous and more conscious of my impact. I have become deeply convicted about buying into a market that abuses the poor, destroys the environment, and sells sex and lies.

Where I put my money shows where I put my heart. If I spend my paychecks on things that don't matter, things that crush dreams and rot in landfills, then I too am destroying rather than shaping.

Next year, I am rooming with five girls in a two-bedroom apartment. We are living in a housing complex that is a mix of students and of local community members. We have vowed to not let this year slip us by. It is an opportunity to not only encourage each other, develop disciplines, and be a light in a town otherwise riddled with gang violence and drugs. It is a chance to share dinner with the neighbors and create a welcoming atmosphere that somehow stands out in a culture that tells us to keep to ourselves.

This could be incredibly healing for me especially. I am still searching for what it means to be a stable, healthy family. I am still trying to figure out what it means to be in a home instead of a house. It could go very well - and it could go poorly, leaving me to doubt again.

Yet we are simply five broken people living together, seeking out what it means to become whole. We are nothing special. We will fight, we will disappoint, we will wrongly expect. The difference is that we will wake up the next morning and remember "I made a promise."

There is something special about living intentionally. I don't mean to say that some people live "accidentally", but there is a difference between simply doing things versus doing things with a purpose, with a specific goal in mind. This fellowship of selflessness we are seeking to create has the potential to transform us more towards the people God created us to be.


We were made for nothing more than to love, to serve, and to worship.