Mosaic Altar

Pikes Peak, Colorado. August 2010. ©Elise Grinstead

Gather the stones…gather those that have already been given, those coming, and those to come. Know that each bears its own identity, entity, and memory…

Gather the stones of prayers cast long ago and recently…of prayer in the beginning of marriage, for two to be bound together as One. Remember the prayer for the leading into the next place of dwelling, a city seemingly impossible to reach. Remember the prayer for provision in the practical and intangible ways of getting and being there…jobs, finances, community, housing, adjustment, and more. Remember the stones of prayers given for others…for relief, relationship, and restoration. And remember the stones that do not blend in like many of your prayers, but those that stand out as gems—the ones strikingly noticeable because they bear faith in their bold asking. These are ones of specific note, jewels from the times when you fully trust Me to be who I am.

Gather the stones of blessings given and received long ago and recently…blessing of a sister friendship sustained and thriving over the distance. Blessing of a new community of diverse individuals bound together by the Spirit. Blessing of a life built and established in a new place. Blessing of a marriage and partnership. Blessings of continued provision. Blessing of visitors from near and far. Blessing of the Body of Christ living out as it ought; yet seeking to grow. Remember the stones that do not blend in like many of your blessings, but those that stand out as gems—the ones strikingly noticeable because they spoke to your heart deeper than the others. These are ones of specific note, jewels from the times when you can fully see that I love You more than any other will.

Gather the stones of dreams created near and far. The dream of written words sung; written words read and influencing. The dreams of a career three years in the making now coming to a tipping point. The dreams of creating and contributing. The dreams of expanding our family. The dreams of serving sacrificially in a significant way. The dreams of healing and restoration in that which cannot hear. Remember the stones that do not blend in like many of your dreams, but those that stand out as gems—the ones strikingly noticeable because they are the hardest to hope for. These are ones of specific note, jewels because they require all of Me to be in it.

Gather the stones together; they cannot be separated from the whole. Gather these stones; they are not meant to be carried on your own. Gather them and keep bringing them, all together as they form as one.

May they make up an altar in which you give all to Me. And, in that altar, may you see the beauty of the stones, a mosaic creation that only a surrendered life can bring.

Place in Order

Lily ponds, Brooklyn Botanical Garden © Elise Grinstead 2011

Place in order
this love, this affection of
self—
and selfish things.
Place it upon the shelf,
high out of reach, out of
sight—
and visible means.

To now relinquish
this control, this possession of
life—
and slippery rings.
To now submit outward
beyond feeble hands, a deceptive
heart—
and conflicting feelings.

To surrender brings
bestowal of grace, endless reserve of
mercy—
and a humbling.
To surrender means
to deny self, turn away and
embrace—
the Holy Being.

Cylinders

All rights reserved by ►CubaGallery

The two were there on the subway bench—just like countless others who had sat in their place before. Yet, they were different. They carried awestruck joy in their disposition as a private moment was shared in a very public place. A roll of paper emerged from her bag, possessing five black and white images in a sequence, all a little blurry while still identifiable as to what they were. He took her hand and traced her fingernails, one by one, as they traded glances between each other and these images self-evident of the new life that is to come. It was all optimism, all wonder, all joy, all pure hope on display. As they descended the subway car, he took her carefully with his arm on her back, guarding her with his life—the one who carries the shared life they will be bringing forth in months’ time.

...


As the morning’s steps are traced once again, the path of ten minutes by, there are innocent babes bundled up and ported on wheels. Slightly older young blokes and misses propel themselves to their destination with a push off one foot and a gliding platform holding the other, all with their watchful caretaker following closely behind. There is one in particular—dare I call her self’s favorite—that tries to defy her previous high of reached speed every morning. She hurls down the sidewalk, leaving her mother exasperatingly far behind her, but her mother seems to bear consolation in that her little one is fearless. Still, there are others more cautious, like the little lad who needed his mother to hold his hand down every step in the passage to the subway, all while bearing a Toy Story helmet with Buzz Lightyear on it—presumably one of his favorite idols of whom he wishes he could be like, but is not there yet. By those charged with care, there is such patience on display even if a straining reach is what achieves it.

...

Almost everyday, his hope seems to parallel that which is in the crate set upon the corner bearing his possessions…tattered, scattered, bearing little substance beyond the scraps of the meal begged for the day before and the cardboard sign on which his life is laid bare with just a few words. Some days, he stands, hunched over in the path of those who pass through, hoping that he will be noticed and seen. Other days, there is resignation to simply sit and be ignored. Is he not too a son? Or maybe even a father? With an aching heart, this self wonders if there are others who see him, and most of the days, the heart continues to ache. Yet then, that one morning as self’s steps led up to his corner, a man of dignity in the world’s eyes met the one without for a moment and gave an offering to provide for his needs, all while the eyes locked and a shake of hands was shared. Strikingly evident, this man of dignity in the world was also one of dignity of heart.

...

A pane of glass set in brick and mortar tucked away in the intimacy of self’s street—today the shades descended, revealing three generations behind. A dinner table up to the window ledge, set with the bodies of young boys eagerly peering with wondrous eyes at the sights passing ever by. A mother and grandmother observed and watched while conversing themselves, only to detract the boys’ attention for a moment in order that all could burst forth with a peal of laughter, one that comes from the gut and a lightness of heart. A simplicity in youth, wisdom, and old age, all intertwined for those few moments that remind us that we are not so far apart as we think we are.

...

For once, the heavy sights recede a while…for now, there are no crashing waves of a slap across a child’s face, a cursing mouth of a parent, an ignored cry of plea by a helpless one, a continued neglect of the displaced—known one made invisible—on the same corner everyday. For today, the bubbles of isolation make contact with another, causing them to shatter and be now exposed. To this, we remember…we all rise and fall together; we are gathered mist that will return again to its own ring, only to be set forth once again to become cylindrical and rise with a blow of air.

Measured Recklessness

Statue at Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, 2011 ©EG

You are stronger and more fragile than you ever mean to be.

In a given moment, you may be blissfully aware of your strengths, painfully aware of your weaknesses, or ignorant to one or the other or even both.

So often you live your life as your own. It is easy to do this when triumphs, blessings, and growth roll your way. Invigorating. Exciting. Blissful.

Yet, in the next moment, it all can change—circumstances conspire that creep up slowly or fall heavily as if the weight of the world were suddenly dropped. It is then you remember there are so many things out of your control. Change. Sickness. Loss. Death. Visible signs that this world is not yet fully redeemed. And then, it creates times when you wonder if it ever will be. Painful. Humbling. Sobering. And there are other times when it's incredibly convicting that you are not who you wish to be. Despite all your best actions and intentions, still you fail, still you fall short, time and time again. You are left wallowing, discouraged.

And you wonder, does anyone know?

Does anyone know exactly what you feel, what you are going through, what you are thinking? You have those moments of encouragement, when it seems someone is able to empathize, right? But the other times in between seem to be filled with words being spoken to you, noise in the situation in which you find yourself in…

Empty words.
Idle words.
Repetitive words.
Trite words.
Hurtful words.
Or a complete lack of words.

It sometimes seems to drive the point further home that you might have to try to figure this out alone. Yet, alone? Relief and dread come instantaneously. If then, there is no one, then there must be someone? At least One who knows, who hears, who understands, in a sea full of others who don't.

But where can He be found?

...

I look around...no one yet. I wander to find...nothing yet.

I listen to hear...hear...and I hear...

"Incline your ear, and come to me;
hear, that your soul may live;
and I will make with you an everlasting covenant..."

That my soul shall live? An everlasting covenant, made with me? By whom?

"Oh, seek me, I the Lord, while I may be found;
call upon me while you are near;
Forsake your wicked ways and unrighteous thoughts. 
Return to me, and I will have compassion on you,
and I will abundantly pardon." 

There is One near, full of compassion and forgiveness? Oh, the thought of this...I am moved to consider...

"My thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways.
As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts."

“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven
and do not return there but water the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
it shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.


Do you believe that I sent this word for you?


I desire you to know Me, to believe that I wish you go out in my joy
and be led forth in my peace.

That when it seems that no one knows or understands, you can trust that I do. 

That when it seems the load is too heavy and the burden too great, I can carry it.

That when it seems you are a lost face in the crowd, you see that I see you. 

That in the times of despair and loneliness, I will cradle you.

That in the times You are wrong and fall short, I will give you discipline, yet with grace.

That in the times of great trial and strife, I will stand with you and fight for you.

That in the times of your joy of greatest measure, I will rejoice with you.

I know your heart, my dear one. I know you, and I will always hold you. 



So how then, shall you live?

Trust Me recklessly. 

Excerpts from Isaiah 55 throughout

Abide

At our church in NYC, we are going through the signs of Jesus in the Gospel of John. This week, we are going through the miracle of Lazarus being raised from the dead. In our community group, we were asked this question: "Martha has two interactions with Jesus where Jesus asks specifically if she believes Him to be the Christ not only as Savior for eternity, but for the here and now. Have there been times when circumstances have prevented you from believing in Christ for the here and now?" Some thoughts and reflections have come in the days since.

Living for the here and now asks us to reside in uncertainty of circumstances while abiding in the certainty of Jesus Christ.

We try to hold the realities of uncertainty at an arm’s length. We avoid the questions that ask us for answers we do not have. We avoid placing ourselves in situations where we do not know what to do. Simply put—we avoid situations where we do not feel we have a firm sense of control. This may work to an extent, but in full measure, it always fails.

For who here, on this earth, knows all there is and is to come? For who here never resides in a moment of uncertainty? There is no one—except the One who walked this earth long ago, fully God and fully man, and through His resurrection, we know He lives on and He knows.

This brings the necessity of abiding in the certainty of Christ. As surely as the resurrection happened and reminds us that Jesus lives on through the promise of the Holy Spirit, so we must choose to abide in the certainty only a choice of faith can bring.

Yet, there is a tension in residing and abiding. We are asked to embrace an uncertainty visible to us while placing our faith in a certainty that is not visible in the same way. And, it further asks us to embrace change in our circumstances that may never be forseen with our own eyes, and with it, to trust that God is sovereign and good with or despite it. We do not know His thoughts, His plans, and His ways. But, we can trust in what He has chosen to declare and make known, and walk with Him daily on the path where He may give further revelation in time.

Through Him is the path to righteousness. Through Him is abundant grace. Through Him is the promise of new life, not just upon the death of our earthly bodies or upon His second coming, but in the here and now.

The other day I went to an art exhibit that displayed Eastern Mediterranean relics from during the transition to Christianity in the 3rd to 7th century AD. There were many beautiful and incredible pieces…from large mosaics, ivory carvings, full head sculptures, coinage, and more. Yet there was a piece that stood out to me more than any other, as I walked by it.

An altar.

An altar from a 3rd century church, where the Eucharist was given upon. Body and blood, bread and wine. A reminder of the transformation of fully man and fully God connecting us through the death of His flesh those who were separated from Him. This was used over 1800 years ago, and it exists today. A beautiful symbol of the steadfastness that remains in this faith, this faith centered around this person, this death, this sacrifice.

This resurrection.

For to find our life, we must lose it, to find it once again and always, in Him. And part of losing our life means having the willingness to embrace uncertainty while embracing His certainty. It means not holding things and circumstances uncomfortable at an arm’s length, but rather living in the tension of residing and abiding.

He is Jesus Christ, the son of God. He is the One who came into the world. He is the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in Him, though you die, you shall live. Do you believe this? (John 11:25-27).

If so, it is profoundly simple.

Abide. 

"I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch of mine that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in me he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. 

These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full. John 15:1-11

Confession: Delayed Obedience

On this blog, I sometimes feel led to post my direct communication with the Lord, rather than the typical blog entry types of mine. Tonight is one of those nights. I desire to be honest and confess my shortcomings.

My Dear Lord,

I am overwhelmingly convicted, heavy, and downcast.

There has been so much delayed obedience on my part, which is disobedience. And I feel and see the repercussions of it now. Things that I have been waiting so long to do, people to contact, things to start…I’ve been waiting until “later.”

And now, I feel as if something is going to happen…whether that’s me falling face down before you, confessing my sin, or also something else I do not yet know of. I feel this overwhelming sense of grief.

Lord, I confess my sin before You…in that I choose to do what I want to do or think is best in the moment, and I have been dictating our relationship so much. I seek to listen, but on my own terms. I seek to do, but on my own time. Lord, I am not Your master—You are mine.

I confess the grieving of Your Holy Spirit, particularly in drawing from it to minister to others without allowing You to minister to me through it first.

I confess the things that I have not done, though you have laid them on my heart for a long time. This, sending of my songs to someone. This, a discipline of writing to allow You to do with it what You will. This, a willingness to serve others while denying myself. This, a willingness to see this place around me with open eyes and open heart, ready and willing to engage in relationship, rather than of selfish preservation of self.

Lord, why do I guard myself? Why do I hold my best interests of myself in my heart and mind? Why do I think they are aligned with Yours, when I’m not even aligning myself to You?

Lately, there has been relationship with You. There have also been sweet times of communion and prayer. But, it has been self-serving and self-needing, rather than an act of worship to You.

I am so thankful for the words of others, of fellow saint-sinners. In recent written words of theirs, they said things mulling within myself that I have not been able to fully articulate or understand. Some of those include:

• Our chief end should be to do what You command.
• We should always see with open eyes, ready to do
• The body of Christ must not be neglected.
• There is a need to remember our sinful state, confess it before You, and receive Your grace and forgiveness, not abusing it or taking it for granted.
• We should always prepare for loss in order that it may be found fully.

There is an enemy to my heart and soul, and in this world. Satan has power, and it is apparent. The suicide of a 16-year old girl. Sin abounding in others. Depressive thoughts and reigning selfishness.

Yet Lord, we are Yours, and in all things, we can trust that You allow for Your purposes.

In this sinful state I am in, I am overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed at how far I am from where I should be, face on the ground before You, and then You ask me to arise, to know that I am forgiven and healed, and then set forth in this world to be one of Your followers, one of Your ministers of grace…

And it couldn’t have been more starkly apparent than when I saw the homeless man that I see almost every day on my way to work today. I saw him from afar—he hadn’t been there this week—and I grabbed a dollar from my wallet before I approached him. There he was on the corner, standing with his hunched back, his glassy eyes turning and watching and pleading to all who walked by. If I were to speak in human terms, he is one of the more intimidating homeless people to encounter. You can tell that things have happened to him that are probably very difficult to mention.

The crowd dispersed from the corners as I approached, and his head resigned and he went back to not looking. When I got there, he wasn’t looking at me and his back was turned. I touched him on the shoulder gently to get his attention, so I could hand him a meager dollar. He spun around and I addressed him. I told him good morning, like I try to do every time I see him, and gave him the dollar in my hand while my other remained on his shoulder. I told him I hoped he could use this to get something to eat or drink. His face was covered with sores and crumbs of some kind today. But, the look in his eyes as he felt my touch was overwhelming…eyes that normally appear completely glassed over to the world, showed emotion and feeling. They showed a bewildering thankfulness that I had touched him, that I had seen him, that I had recognized his need, and moreso, recognized him as a fellow person.

It was such a small act but had such an overwhelming sense of healing. I realized…he has probably not been touched for a very long time.

And this, this one act of obedience, this that I have needed to do again for a while, has completely upended me.

It is things like this that show me what it is to be a light in this world, particularly in this city, and it overwhelms me.

I am overwhelmed by my delayed obedience, my disobedience, and how sinful I am. Yet, I am also overwhelmed at the prospect of being Your servant and what that looks like and means here.

I know I will be changed. And I know, deep down, that I want that. But, I fear. I am scared at what it looks like. And I know You are worthy of my trust, and that I want Your will for my life. I’m just balking at the cost.

All of me, is required for surrender, my dear Lord. All of me. Show me what that looks like in a world of responsibilities, and a world of needs. Show me again what it is to abide in You and bear much fruit, fruit that will bless and serve others without completely draining myself as I sinfully attempt to operate out of self-sufficiency.

I need You so, my Lord. I know this. May I act upon it and receive.

Thank You for receiving a wretched sinner like me.

Truly, truly

I walk these city streets, seeking
The ways I can find You here, being
called to know and grow and go
forth today, tomorrow, and into eternity
These eyes of mine, You grant them seeing
and time and time again, I’m overwhelmed with feeling

My heart is so full it could explode
not from a lovely high but instead a heavy load
And I wonder how, here and now
with so much and little I seem to know
that You would send me forth to go
with a message of healing

For I see him there, hungry on the corner
Body and soul in need of feeding
For I see him there, thirsty under the tree
Voice and mind in need of replenishing
For I see him there, clothes barely existing
Dignity and pride in need of restoring
For I see him there, no one beside him
Hope and love in need of receiving
And I see him there, prisoned in his circumstances
A seeking need of freedom, desperately hoping to be granted

Truly, truly, am I seeing?
And truly, truly, am I willing?

I ponder these avenues of heart, seeking
The ways I can find You here, being
called to know and grow and go
forth today, tomorrow, and into eternity
These eyes of mine, You grant them seeing
and time and time again, I’m overwhelmed with feeling

My eyes are so full they could explode
not from a lovely sight but instead a heavy load
And I wonder how, here and now
with how much and little I seem to see
that You would send me forth to be
a messenger of healing

For I see You there, hungry in the corner
Your body and soul given to be a feeding
For I see You there, thirsty upon the tree
Your voice and mind in need of repeating
For I see You there, clothes barely existing
Your dignity and humility in need of glorifying
For I see You there, thieves only beside You
Yet Your hope and love ever flowing
And I see You there, embracing your circumstances
A giving up of freedom, all to be gracious
To bring those who do not know
to You

Truly, truly, do I see?
And truly, truly, will I meet Your plea?

Oh dear Shepherd, may I be
Willing to give it all
Lay it down for Your needs
For You to send out with Your call
All that I am and can be
Oh dear Savior, may I know
that in those I see, I see You too
And what I do for them, I do also to You

I walk these city streets, seeking
The ways I can find You here, being
called to know and grow and go
forth today, tomorrow, and into eternity
These eyes of mine, You grant them seeing
and time and time again, I’m overwhelmed with feeling

"When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. hen the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.' Then the righteous will answer him, saying, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?' And the King will answer them, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.' "Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.' Then they also will answer, saying, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?' Then he will answer them, saying, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.' And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life." Matthew 10:31-46

Stepping Stones Invisible

Let me peer through the gates, over the edge…
Let me mark the path’s stones that
lie on the way—
from one to another, to another again.

I see the soil in between
A seed, so small, yet a beacon
For what can be rather than what cannot.
Then, buried beneath to bear the fate of the eventual
roots visible and unseen, strength
and weakness.
Let me not trample the latter. May I
tend them carefully; let me not block
rays of light that will nourish to bring about a flourishing.

How strange is it that falling is necessary—
the falling of rain, the bowing beneath—
In reception. In surrender. Its time not dictated
by self, but by a greater
One unseen, but known.
Invisibility of sovereignty—
it does not change the fact that He exists and will
ordain graciously,
majestically,
tenderly.

Perhaps not now, or not soon, but
one day, this process will appear; its location will be marked
between the stepping stones visible.

Immanuel

The following in italic is an excerpt from Max Lucado’s An Angel’s Story, written from the perspective of the Angel Gabriel.

…My Father’s response was a pronouncement. “The time has come for the second gift.”

The frame beneath [Lucifer’s] cape bounced stiffly as he chuckled. “The second gift, eh? I hope it works better than the first.”

“You’re disappointed with the first?” asked the Father.

“Oh, quite the contrary; I’ve delighted in it.” Lifting a bony finger, he spelled a word in the air: C-H-O-I-C-E. “You gave Adam his choice,” Satan scoffed. “And what a choice he made! He chose me. Ever since the fruit was plucked from the tree in the Garden, I’ve held your children captive. They fell. Fast. Hard. They are mine. You have failed. Heh-heh-heh.”

“You speak so confidently,” replied the Father, astounding me with His patience.

Lucifer stepped forward, his cloak dragging behind him. “Of course! I thwart everything You do! You soften hearts, I harden them. You teach truth, I shadow it. You offer joy, I steal it.”

He pivoted and paraded around the room, boasting of his deeds. “The betrayal of Joseph by his brothers—I did that. Moses banished to the desert after killing the Egyptian—I did that. David watching Bathsheba bathe—that was me. You must admit, my work has been crafty.”

“Crafty? Perhaps. But effective? No. I know what you will do before you do it. I used the betrayal of Joseph to deliver my people from famine. Your banishment of Moses became his wilderness training. And yes, David did commit adultery with Bathsheba—but he repented of his sin! And thousands have been inspired by his example and found what he found—unending grace. Your deceptions have only served as platforms for My mercy. You are still my servant, Satan. When will you learn? Your feeble attempts to disturb My work only enable My work. Every act you have intended for evil, I have used for good.”

Satan began to growl—a throaty, guttural, angry growl. Softly at first, then louder, until the room was filled with a roar that must have quaked the foundations of hell.

But the King was not bothered. “Feeling ill?”

Lucifer lurked around the room, breathing loudly, searching for words to say and a shadow from which to say them. He finally found the words to say and a shadow from which to say them. “Show me, O King of Light, show me one person on the Earth who always does right and obeys Your will.”

“Dare you ask? You know there need be only one perfect one, only one sinless one to die for all the others.”

“I know Your plans—and You have failed! No Messiah will come from Your people. There is not one who is sinless. Not one.” He turned his back to the desk an began naming the children. “Not Moses. Not Abraham. Not Lot. Not Rebekah. Not Elijah…”

The Father stood up from His throne, releasing a wave of holy Light so intense that Lucifer staggered backward and fell. “Those are my children you mock,” God’s voice boomed. “You think you know much, fallen angel, but you know little. Your mind dwells in the valley of self. Your eyes see no further than your needs.”

The King walked over and reached for the book. He turned it toward Lucifer and commanded, “Come, Deceiver, read the name of the One who will call your bluff. Read the name of the One who will storm your gates.”

Satan rose slowly off his haunches. Like a wary wolf, he walked a wide circle toward the desk until he stood before the volume and read the word: “Immanuel?” he muttered to himself, then spoke in a tone of disbelief. “God with us?” For the first time the hooded head turned squarely toward the face of the Father. “No. Not even You would do that. Not even You would go so far.”

“You’ve never believed me, Satan.”

“But Immanuel?” The plan is bizarre! You don’t know what it is like on Earth! You don’t know how dark I’ve made it. It’s putrid. It’s evil. It’s…”

“It is MINE,” proclaimed the King. “And I will reclaim what is mine. I will become flesh. I will feel what my creatures feel. I will see what they see.”

“But what of their sin?”

“I will bring mercy.”

“What of their death?”

“I will give life.”

Satan stood speechless.

God spoke, “I love my children. Love does not take away the beloved’s freedom. But love does take away fear. And Immanuel will leave behind a tribe of fearless children. They will not fear you or your hell.”

Satan stepped back at the thought. His retort was childish. “Th-th-they will too!”

“I will take away all sin. I will take away all death. Without sin and without death, you have no power.”

Around and around in a circle Satan paced, clenching and unclenching his wiry fingers. When he finally stopped, he asked a question that even I was thinking. “Why? Why would You do this?”

The Father’s voice was deep and soft. “Because I love them.”

The two stood facing each other. Neither spoke. The extremes of the universe were before me. God robed in Light, each thread glowing. Satan canopied in evil, the very fabric of his robe seeming to crawl. Peace contrasting panic. Wisdom confronting foolishness. One able to rescue, the other anxious to condemn.

I have reflected much on what happened next. Though I have relived the moment countless times, I’m as stunned as I was at the first. Never in my wildest thoughts did I think my Kind would do what He did. Had He demanded Satan’s departure, who would have questioned? Had He taken Satan’s life, who would have grieved? Had He called me to attack, I would have been willing. But God did none of these.

From the circle of Light came His extended hand. From His throne came an honest invitation. “Will you surrender? Will you return to me?”

I do not know the thoughts of Satan. But I believe that for a fleeting second the evil heart softened. The head cocked slightly, as if amazed that such an offer would be made. But then it yanked itself erect.

“Where will we battle?” he challenged.

The father sighed at the dark angel’s resistance. “On a hill called Calvary.”

“If you make it that far.” Satan smirked, spinning and marching out the entryway. I watched as his spiny wings extended, and he soared into the heavenlies.

The Father stood motionless for a moment, and then turned back to the book. Opening to the final chapter, He slowly read words I had never heard. No sentences. Just words. Saying each, then pausing. “Jesus. Nail. Cross. Blood. Tomb. Life.”

He motioned toward me, and I responded, kneeling again before Him. Handing me the necklace, He explained, “This vial will contain the essence of myself; a Seed to be placed in the womb of a young girl. Her name is Mary. She lives among my chosen people. The fruit of the Seed is the Son of God. Take it to her.”

“But how will I know her?” I asked.

“Don’t worry. You will.”

I could not comprehend God’s plan, but my understanding was not essential. My obedience was. I lowered my head and He draped the chain around my neck. Amazingly, the vial was no longer empty. It glowed with Light.

“Jesus. Tell her to call My Son Jesus.”

-Excerpt from An Angel’s Story by Max Lucado


The days leading up to Christmas this year seemed laden with the contrast of heaviness and blessing. It was easy to see God’s goodness. But, it was also easy to see the difficulties of life—of those hurting, of those confused, of those searching. Over and over again, I kept being drawn back to God’s sovereignty…that in all this, He knows. In all this, He will use for good. All this pain, He can redeem. There were a few looking to me for counsel. In it, I felt the overwhelming need to encourage them to turn to Jesus. To allow Him to show them that He knows, and He understands. To remind them that even when there are no answers at the present, there can still be peace. To allow Him to give them hope even when it’s hard to hold on to any.

Jesus. Such a name greater than all names. Such a Savior in a world broken, and laden with pain.

I read the above excerpt a few days before Christmas, and it took my breath away. We do not know exactly what happened in the planning and giving of a Savior, but we do know the Father’s heart, and what was written by Max Lucado captures it so beautifully, I feel.

We do live in a broken world. It is hard to see the light at times, especially when Satan’s schemes so often succeed. But, it is easy to forget that God allows Satan’s schemes, and He will use them for His good. And more so than that—He has always had a plan for redemption.

Immanuel. God with us.

He would send Himself into this world, to become flesh. To feel what His creatures feel. To see what we see. He would bring mercy and light.

And more so, He knew that coming into this world through a pure virgin, taking on flesh, meant an eventual painful death on the cross on a hill called Calvary. Satan would battle there too. But God would be ultimately victorious.

This…it is so profound to know that there is a God who loves us to battle and sacrifice Himself on our behalf. To know that the plan existed before time, and started its process in the body of an infant child, meek and mild…of the Father and destined to conquer sin for all.

And this…this we must remember and carry with us, not just today but always…that though Satan wars still, through Jesus, we can be victorious. All can be used for His good. The Father has been and always will be, a Sovereign God. Satan ultimately does not have power that the Father does not allow. Let us keep in mind and heart, now and forever...that to Satan, God essentially speaks, “I love my children. Love does not take away the beloved’s freedom. But love does take away fear. And Immanuel will leave behind a tribe of fearless children. They will not fear you or your hell.”

For today

This morning, I awoke—with little light streaming through our newly hung curtains—and checked the weather on my phone. A special alert came up: “Dense Fog Advisory.” Could it be? I wondered…I really haven’t experienced fog much here in Brooklyn yet, at least not on the street level. I peered through our curtains to the east and found I couldn’t even see the buildings more than three streets over, including the dominant Brooklyn skyline that is now our normal view day in and out. I smiled. I went to wrap on further warmth to my body with the robe that has been packed away for a week, finding comfort in its softness, and walked into the kitchen to see the west view. I couldn’t even see the river, less than ¼ mile away from us, just over the highway. Again, I smiled.

The internet wasn’t working this morning, so I did not read the news as I usually do while eating my breakfast. Instead, I simply sat, ate, and read a book that fed my soul instead.

In doing so, it made me wonder again--like I did last night--as to why in a city with as much stimulus it bears, do I seek to create more stimulus in my mind than is needed? It seems there is such a line between stimulus that is beneficial in resting and stimulus that just clutters up the mind more. The line is not always thick and it is not always thin. It depends on the day, on my heart and mind, and this is where discernment must come in.

This city…this city. The only way to truly “escape” it is basically to close one’s eyes and sleep, but even then, as my dear husband has found, there is not always rest. There are noises from the hissing of a radiator heating, honking from the highway, doors closing of nearby neighbors, and occasionally, lights that shine forth into said windows. We even found that we must close our bedroom door at night, for right now our living room window without curtains, displays a seeming strobe light of endless lights in no true rhythm or pattern as they stream forth from the highway. Even our new apartment is evidence of this paradox: on the east, the street is calm, quiet, very few cars but more pedestrians with their children, families, dogs. On the west side with a barrier of about 50 meters, we have the craziness of the highway, complete with the on-ramp in front of us, but then, just on the other side of it, is the East River, its tranquility evidenced as water sparkles and shines both in the day and night. We go up to the roof above us, and we can see for seemingly miles—a rarity in this city—complete with the sunsets, city lights of night, and breaking of dawn. This, is peace.

There seems to be such an innate human wrestling with the pursuit of peace and how to best attain it. We cling onto the little we have and fight for what we do not yet. The drivers on the highway show the best example: in their pursuit to get to a said place, they honk, swerve into the lanes, accelerate quickly only to have to decelerate quickly due to the traffic in front, and all of these actions on every individual’s part only leads to more frustrated individuals, a frustrated general public, and a disharmony of the parts working as a whole.

What then, in my mind and my heart, honks forth, swerves in front of things that shouldn’t, races ahead to only be decelerated again? And what of my mind and heart is simply resigned to sit in the traffic and go the pace that the situation currently allows at the time?

In time, I will get there. But there’s only so much I can do to in navigating a situation. It is better to be on the journey and allow it to take me when and where I should go.

I see this exit—should I take it? Should I go there? I see that building—what’s in it? The walking and learning of a new neighborhood feeds this innate questioning. But even more, it whispers to me, who do you want to become?

Overall, there is such peace. But there too, is an innate wrestling. I see the prospects of so many things, like the rooftops and skylines from our new building, both near and far. And those far—for some reason, I think I have to get there soon. The questions race through my mind… “What of getting involved here? What does that mean? In a few years, God willing, we will start a family. So, what does that mean for now?” In this questioning, the buildings between here and there create tension; they seem to become obstacles needing to be navigated on the way to an eventual goal and reality. I start to get anxious about what those intermediate buildings may hold and I forget the process of journeying, of discovering.

I forget that what is between here and there, God uses and will continue to in shaping me to whom I hope to become.

Take, for instance, the quaint little neighborhood café on the first floor of our building: Iris Café. This too, is a reminder. John brought to mind a poem I wrote three and a half years ago titled “Flowers Along the Way.” In reading it just now, I find it ironically appropriate here too, in a new way.

Heart unsettled
Uncertainty resides
Whisper in the midst
New things into light
Unknown territory ahead
Ground unsteady beneath
Destination a ways away
But still I never fall
For the Spoken Word remains
Be still in the moving
Sands ever shifting
Path ever changing
Only One keeps me going
For the Living God remains
Climbing still
Trusting ever more
Heart will never break
And there will be flowers along the way


It is easy to forget that there are treasures in the journey, flowers along the way. Or perhaps—in this city—buildings along the way.

In all this, what then of a smile this morning with the fog, and a blessed contentment that came with it? “Why so content with it?” I asked myself. In my spiritual life, fog has never really been a settling thing for me before. It has masked things I wished to be visible for perspective in my surroundings. Yet, on the morn of last night, I found it incredibly comforting. Yes. I can’t see those far buildings or river of possibilities today. I can only see what is right in front of me. Simplicity granted in a mind and heart of stimulus and thoughts, dwelling in the midst of a bustling and full city. Gratitude became the response for God masking the things far away today as a reminder…

…that for today, I am right here.

Ink

Here.

One could say that it is now truly fall here—if fall is measured mainly by the true changing and falling of the leaves. Every morning and evening I walk the walk to the subway stop and on my way home down the tree-lined pedestrian walkway, looking for the degree of change that might have occurred from the day before. I haven’t had an east coast fall before; I haven’t known what to expect. I have been hoping that it would be beautiful what with the variety and sheer number of trees here. It started off in early October with one tree species turning a beautiful golden yellow. But, that was the only one. The rest hung onto their green, and even some seemed to just to be turning brown and dying immediately. In talking with others, it was tempting to write off this fall as a fluke one and just await next year’s. Yet, I still had hope. There were still trees with green leaves, and there was still time for them to change.

There was one morning last week when it was foggy, unexpected. The crispness seemed to bring another level of seeing to my eyes and heart and help me to recognize, “yes, this is what I wait for, and it is good to wait.” The softness of light helped me see the edges of leaves from green to red, yellow to orange—change. The next morning, the sun blazed once again, and I sighed and knew, “Yes. Fall is truly here.”

And the trees my eyes behold now…a true rainbow of colors in the most beautiful ways. They are red at the top, fade to orange to yellow, and preserve their green at the bottom. Pure brilliance of color. Pure vibrancy and boldness. They stand out in the midst of their other leafy companions because they did not rush their time and wither away too quickly—they awaited the proper time to flourish in color and surrender.

The sunlight is now much shorter. I have the brilliant morning sun on my walk to work, but now it is dark when I walk home. It makes those moments in the morning all that much more precious, for it is then that I must drink in the sights around me in the true light the sun brings. Every morning, during those 10 minutes, I cannot help but well up with thankfulness of the Lord’s provision…

John and I are moving in two weeks. We knew we would be, but to where? Where in Brooklyn would we end up, and begin to truly settle for the first time in our year and a half of married life? Our apartment search was like walking the tree-lined pathways…there were some good options, there were some altogether promising ones that withered away too quickly, and there were others that were deceiving. Nothing really of brilliance. But then, in the middle of the search, we found one in the area we love, at a price we could afford, and it was just posted. Dare we think it might be meant for us? That God, knowing the perfect timing, provided this apartment to shine its pure brilliance, vibrancy and boldness, in the midst of more dull ones? One that matches our passions, our hopes and dreams, of what we wish life here to be like and what we hope to do? But, it wasn’t too good to be true—God lavished the blessing upon us, and we will be moving in there in two weeks. We are humbled. We do not have to await next year’s fall—it is brilliant here and now.

There has been so much overflowing provision…every good and perfect gift from our Father above. It has come in smaller proportions and also bigger waves of change. In every step of faith, He has called, and He has responded to our steps. And more so, He has lavished His love upon us, showing us that He truly knows and holds us firmly. Sometimes He just desires to bless His children. We are greatly humbled.

In this change of moving to Brooklyn, there have been moments that have been foggy, unexpected. God’s embrace brings another level of seeing to my eyes and heart and helps me to recognize, “yes, You are who I wait for, and it is good to wait upon You.” The fervor of His love helps me see the edges of blessing from challenges to provision, waiting and receiving—grace. In this evening, there was a full moon and scattered clouds in the sky. It lights up the leaves in the coolest of colors, unexpectedly, and I sigh and know, “Yes. You are always here.”

Keeper of Moments

I seem to be hanging onto moments lately. Moments, in the forms of tidbits or substantial servings, are lingering a while as I go back to them for multiple helpings. Some are sweet, delighting my senses. Some are bitter, where I am intrigued to remember why. Others are savory, warming my heart and soul.

I looked into the eyes of my mother this weekend and walked step-in-step with her for three days, both showing her and exploring this crazy city I live in together. It made me remember the joys of childhood—like the red basket she would put me in with a bag of popcorn as we traversed Target in running our errands. I remember the treats we shared as we stopped for “just a little snack.” But, this weekend, I also saw more. I saw a woman who loves well and has continued to grow throughout her lifetime, while still never compromising who she is, even the little quirks that she possesses. My husband commented that she is the same wherever she goes, and I thought that to be a grand observation. Clad in her shorts on the subway, she laughs and jokes with the person next to her, not thinking anything otherwise. She turned up the air conditioner so she could hunker down under the quilt and sleep all cold and snuggly, complete with her bean bag booklight at her side as she read into the night. These are glimpses of my mother, and moments pinned into my mind, as if they were snapshots of love hung on the walls of a family home.

Last night I looked at a picture of two incredibly dear friends together, one of the first of its kind, as they begin their relationship. It is just a moment in time captured in an instant, yet it encompasses so much. This picture is evidence of a real manifestation in their lives—not just something I have seen, hoped and prayed for some time for. In looking at their faces, they look the same and entirely different at the same time—these two I have known for over six years—because it’s as if a few years of lessons and refining have come to a new plateau as they now begin something together. This picture is just a moment, but it also contains several years, lifetimes that came before it, and it possesses the beautiful hope that comes with something new. And this mentioned picture seems to set off a slideshow reel of moments in my mind…moments with each of them individually over the years. These moments are all memories in themselves, but for some reason they are colliding and merging with one another at a rapid pace, yet still maintaining their integrity as a moment in time. Then is now mixed with now, and now is mixed with then.

What day do I live in? What moment am I embracing at the present? Is it the present, or is it the past or future? Does it have to be the present in order for it to be a wise stewardship of it? Or, can it be a montage of many moments together as I embark into the future?

Last night, I spoke with a new dear friend here about her foot and ongoing therapy. I recalled the moment when I was 17 years old in which I ran harder than ever that day and something in my foot snapped. Physically, that moment changed everything for over a year, and that moment brought effects that changed the course of my life. It set the course in which I would surrender athletics and its pursuit, allowing God to open my eyes to new things and new people. I shared this with my friend, and found out that she too, had a very similar injury in a very similar place when she was at the same age. We looked at each other in a sense of curiosity and delight for the similarities we yet again find between the two of us. These moments, if not revisited, would not help in the weaving of a new fabric of common strands of experiences that we can both relate in and share. It was a moment in which the past and present collided with one another.

But, I too, hang onto the moments of friendships and times past…remembering who and what they were in my life, and honestly grieving a bit at times for the loss of it. It’s still hard to accept that some friendships have been lost, some seasons have passed, and unless God wills to raise them up again, they are laid to rest. Sometimes I feel as if I walk through the graveyard a bit too long, reflecting on the epitaphs and the dates of birth and death. Sometimes I kneel in reflection. And sometimes I have to strongly fight the urge to start digging and try to resurrect something or someone meant to be laid at rest in my life. But also, sometimes this reflecting drives me in my present and in my future—remembering ways I failed or things that could’ve been done better, and learning from its death in how to preserve life in these new things.


Yet—past, present, and future moments—I am not their keeper.

“For God has made everything appropriate in its time. He has also set eternity in our hearts, yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end.

I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to do good in one's lifetime; moreover, that every man who eats and drinks sees good in all his labor--it is the gift of God.

And, I know that everything God does will remain forever; there is nothing I can add to it and there is nothing I can take from it, for God has so worked it that men should fear Him. That which is has been already and that which will be has already been, for God seeks what has passed by.”

Ecclesiastes 3:11-15

To See, To Live

I feel as if I’m always striving to some degree. That, while I do find myself often content, I hardly ever find myself satisfied. I see how much more things can be. I desire how much more some things should be. More justice. More mercy. More love. More learning. More growing. Sometimes I feel that the degree of difference between here and there is closer, but most of the time, I feel it’s very far away. We dream and we talk and we profess to know, and we try to go about our day-to-day business and responsibilities as best as we can. In those days, there are moments where we feel as if we are thriving and fully living. Others, we’re just happy to be surviving. Sometimes we care so much about caring, and other times we just don’t want to care.

This city presses on these extremes I listed and feel. Most of the time, I see and desire how much more things should be, and those other times, I’m overwhelmed and default to the not wanting to care and simply just survive a day. I’ve told John numerous times that “I feel like I’m settling in here more.” Each time I say it, it is more true; yet, it does still have a ways to go. Actually, I wonder if I will ever arrive at feeling fully settled in here. That is a significant thought to ponder.

Can I ever be used to seeing those in want, those in need, to make them “part” of my normal day and reality of this city, content to pass them by without thinking or feeling anything of their situation? Will the colors of skin, the languages displayed, the ethnicities and incredibly varied lives and lifestyles embedded within each ever really blend into something “normal?” Can I ever get to the point where I can embrace God’s provision of enough for John and me financially, without wondering why there is such an obvious disparity of the rich and poor here?

With these thoughts, I don’t think I will ever feel completely “settled in” here…at least, not settled in the ways that cause the eyes and heart to grow cataracts of self-comfort, unable to see the true realities that so glaringly present themselves to those with willing and able vision. To see, to truly see, is to truly live, and that means moments of joy and pain, moments of frustration and relief, moments of peace and of anguish. To live, to truly live, is to truly see, and that means to look beyond oneself and understand the humanity and inhumanity we are surrounded by and are a part of, for better or worse. To breathe, to be alive, means to not have a calloused heart or eyes and be willing to engage in God’s restoration of these things and people, though it is albeit difficult.

But that’s where I want more. More justice. More mercy. More love. More learning. More growing. Sometimes I feel that the degree of difference between where I am now and where I want to be is closer, but most of the time, I feel it’s very far away. I dream and I talk and I profess to know, and I try to go about my day-to-day business and responsibilities as best as I can. In those days, there are moments where I feel as if I am thriving and fully living. Others, I’m just happy to be surviving. Sometimes I care so much about caring, and other times I just don’t want to care.

All these things though, I must remember—and with thanks I do—these things I seek and desire are beyond myself but within the limits of a gracious and all-powerful God. He reminds me of this in the times where I need it most. Friday I was mourning over the lack of actions following up what I desire to see manifested in bestowing God’s grace upon those who need it most. I asked him why I and others know and desire these things but seem to see so little fruit. I didn’t realize it in that moment, but it comes out of a dependence upon His Holy Spirit’s leading and our willingness to respond.

Like every normal day at 5 p.m., I took the subway home. I was engrossed in my own activities of card writing and then a game of solitaire on my phone. Once the subway crossed over into Brooklyn, a young black man entered my car through another’s doors, rather than the outside platforms. He was talking out loud and swirling about from pole to pole—not your typical acceptable “normal” behavior. I put my phone away because I felt something was up. I made eye contact with him, and then it all began.

“Hi. I’m Seanepaul.”

“Hi. I’m Elise. How are you doing?”

A handshake followed, and we made our way through the first moments of conversation by asking normal questions as to where we are headed, where did we come from and what were we doing that day. And in those first moments of conversation, we silently assessed the other. I was assessing if he was a threat or not. He was probably assessing if I was actually going to be a person that wouldn’t blow him off like so many others do. We made it to the stop before the last one, and I invited him to move across the car to a emptier bench where we could both sit down. We talked for a couple more minutes before he interrupted me and said:

“You know, you know, I have been through every car on this train, trying, trying, trying to find someone who would listen. I make people nervous because I can’t control my mouth and they think I’m crazy. But you, you, but you…you not only looked at me, but you are listening to me, and you sat me down.”

His head fell into his hands at that moment and lingered there. His heart seemed to be bursting of gratitude where mine was bursting of being humbled. He was not the person I first suspected, and he needed something so simple that I am perfectly capable of giving.

The problem so often comes down to, am I willing?

Am I willing to let my preconceptions be challenged? Am I willing to trust the Spirit’s leading and ignore the flesh’s callings of fleeing from all possible discomfort? Am I willing to let it play out, with discernment, and see what God can do in it?

We arrived at the last stop, both of our stops, where we got off, and were about to part ways. A few minutes before, I asked God quietly in our conversation that this wouldn’t be the last of it. I desire for friendship to be built here, even with the most unsuspecting people. So of course, he asked for my email address, and asked if my husband would be okay with him emailing me. I replied he would be just fine, and perhaps you could meet him sometime. We talked a bit longer, but he didn’t want the time to end. So, he walked with me on my walk home, and we continued to talk.

As he put on his doo rag, I found he’s a writer of poetry, attending community college. He lives with his mother, father, and brother, and he has grown up and lived here his 31 years of life.

In his free time, he plays XBOX live with his friends (like my brother), and his favorite show is Law and Order (like my father).

We rounded the corner into my neighborhood, immediately coming into the paths of many of our local Jews. He stopped me upon first sight of them, and said “I believe, I believe that we have Jesus in our heart.” I replied gently, “I believe that too.” He asked if I went to church, and I told him about our church and invited him to join us sometime. He doesn’t attend a church often here.

A couple of more blocks passed before I arrived at my building, and it was finally time to part ways.

“It was nice to meet you, Seanepaul, and we will have to email each other and keep in touch.”

“Yes, yes. And thank you. Thank you.” Said his words with eyes full of gratitude as if he had been seen and noticed for the first time in a long while.

He crossed the corner and I walked into my building realizing that he thought he had been given grace, but I felt more a recipient of grace than he. God’s grace in helping me see that sometimes this city feels so very big. But sometimes it is much smaller than I allow it to be. Our differences aren’t as obvious as we sometimes make them out to be. In Seanepaul, I found him a person like a medley of so many that I know and love, yet he was also this brand new person and personality to engage with and come to understand. God was so gracious in bringing him on my path that day to remind me that this desire, this longing I have for more justice, more mercy, more love, more learning, more growing, is of Him. I can try to make the answer for giving and administering these things more complex than it needs to be, but it’s rather simple:

Am I willing to respond to what is put before me, and trust God to do what He will with it? Am I willing to see, to truly see, to live, to truly live?

This city, this I know, though at times albeit difficult, forces me to look beyond myself, to see with an uncalloused heart or eyes. There is so much need and opportunity to be a part of God’s restoration of these things and people.

And this, this means to breathe, to be fully alive.

Little of People and Much of Christ

If there’s one thing I had to say I’ve become more thankful for this year than I ever have before, it is the body of Christ.

I’ve lived in four different places within a year’s span. One of those was the place of college, one was my childhood home, one was my in-law’s home, and now we are in Brooklyn, NY. The body of Christ I engaged with has looked very different in those different places, yet I have found it has the same unity. The same purpose. The same function.

I have seen people wanting and people struggling in their walks. I have seen people growing, at slow speeds and at fast speeds. I have walked with people I know so very well and others I just see from afar when the body gathers.

I have experienced such rich fellowship, specifically in high school and college. In entering into this new phase of adult life, I didn’t know what to hope for as far as community or friendships. And perhaps this is strange, but I have found such a great joy and contentment in...

Expecting little of people and much of Christ.

Expecting little of people enables a freedom and joy of discovery in meeting new people and developing new friendships. The lack of expectation leads to a greater gratitude for what is bestowed and developed naturally, and by the blessing of the Lord. It allows for more open eyes and hands to receive who may not have been sought out or anticipated at the beginning, yet turns out to be a wonderful, unexpected blessing. With this, there is a surrender of right and privilege of friendships and relationships to the Lord; instead, recognizing that they are gifts to be treasured and taken care of.

Yet, we should be expecting much of Christ in their lives. Faith enough to know that He knows them, loves them, cares for them, rebukes them, teaches them. My prayers have changed in this last year as I pray for people. I hardly ever ask God to do specific things for people, as if He were not aware of what that person needs, and as if I know better and need to tell Him so. Instead, I pray for the person. I pray for the eyes of their heart to be open. I pray for them to willingly engage and walk with God in whatever He may be teaching them and bringing him/her through. If I have insight as to what those things may be, then I pray for those.

To expect much of Christ and little of people is not to belittle individuals and who they are. Rather, it is to recognize the human limits of striving and change, of goodness and pure motives. We all are sinners and fall short of the glory of God and who we are intended to be. It’s to recognize that He searches out the hearts and minds of individuals and knows their motives. It’s to recognize that Christ exceeds all limits and bounds, and the work He does and can do in human lives is tremendous.

Expecting little of people and much of Christ prevents us from attempting to make people out to whom we would like or expect them to be, but rather, enable an environment where they are free to be just as they are. It enables them a place where they have the freedom to grow and be encouraged.

In the body of Christ at large in the world, we don’t usually share a lot of similarities. We are rather diverse. It is an easy reaction to mentally “divide” the body of Christ into smaller segments in order to compare and contrast, to analyze and understand. Yet, I fear in doing that, we miss the opportunity to see an intrinsic beauty within it that cannot be explained or reasoned away. There is one body and one spirit, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, and one God and Father. We are comprised of many parts with the purpose of unity.

And expecting much of the Father and Lord means to recognize these truths about the body and remembering what and why it has been bestowed. It means to humbly receive the gift of adoption into this family of Christ, expecting much of what can be done through the works of redemption and salvation in people’s lives. It remembers and holds fast to the knowledge of the promise for those who do not yet know Him, that through the sacrifice of Christ, they too, may be redeemed and transformed. It remembers that we were once there ourselves and to never doubt the power of the Gospel and the saving grace of Christ.

There is such a gratitude and thankfulness that has grown in expecting little of people and much of Christ. We are a messy, diverse, young, old, immature, and always growing bunch. Yet, that is what makes the body of Christ beautiful, unexpected, dynamic, and always surprising. It is a lifelong pursuit of growing in the grace and knowledge of God. It is a wonderful journey to do in the fellowship of believers, all that they may be and are, and for that, I am truly thankful.

Bridges

Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge, Queens, NY

There are some moments of life that serve as bridges from one part to the next. They connect two seemingly unlike parts together, regardless if the passage between the two is narrow and shallow, or deep and wide.

In the moments as I fall asleep, I attempt to orient my thoughts to the same thing, night after night. It allows for my mind to simplify itself and quiet down. I’ve had to find a new thought as of late, and the choices are plentiful. What is it that I will choose to remember, to think of in the last waning moments before I slip into uncontrolled consciousness? The last few nights the choice has been coming back to the beach.

Sand. Water. Ocean. Sun. Warmth. All things that most people enjoy and might even say is rather trite as a focused thought to calm before sleep. Yet, for me, there’s a deeper meaning in this thought, one I didn’t really recognize until last night.

On August 1st, John and I went to the beach for the first time since we moved here in early July. We took the subway out, which was a grand opportunity in itself—to be able to go to the beach by subway in only an hour trip! We had packed lunches and aimed to get out there earlier to beat any crowds a Monday might bring. The subway ride was interesting in itself. It starts underground, which is to be expected here, but after several minutes, it climbs above ground. For a couple of minutes, the cityscape is relatively the same here as the rest of Brooklyn, but then it begins to change. Parking lots outside McDonalds and grocery stores begin to appear. There are less people outside and seems to be an air of calm. A couple of more minutes on the subway go by, and it changes still. Now we see the beginnings of a “small” eastern coast waterfront town, clapboard houses with white trim and sea hues on their bodies. There are backyards and boat slips, connected to a snaking stream that leads to a bay. And suddenly, the bay appears. Ironically so, it’s a wildlife refuge…one breathtakingly beautiful and can transport you to a different world, if you can ignore JFK airport and its hoard of planes on land and in sky on your left. There are so many birds here. Cranes, especially. We travel across the bay for several minutes on a narrow bridge meant just for the subway, surrounded by water the entire time. Sigh. After a quick transfer to another subway shuttle, we take the ride the rest of the way to Rockaway Beach, a narrow yet long peninsula home to over 100 blocks of public sandy waterfront. We leave the train and descend down stairs, then our legs perform a sequence of steps amounting to about 200 yards until we are on the sand…once again.

It’s familiar. We (more so me), spent much time at the beach while living in San Luis Obispo, CA. The choices of beaches there were plentiful…four completely different ones within 15 miles of one another. I had my own favorites each year, but I specifically remember going to Avila Beach just about every week by myself during my last quarter in SLO. It was a time of respite, reflection, and relaxation for me. It had become so much a part of my home and life in the five years of San Luis Obispo that I wanted to take the remaining chances I could to enjoy it before John and I moved away. And there are so many memories…

In September of 2005—my first weekend of freshman year of college—I went to the beach with a bunch of people from my dorms, rounded up by our Campus Crusade staff member who decided we should go hang out at the beach. There was a girl down the hall from me who was also from Colorado, and we had been connecting. We decided to rent surfboards and wetsuits to attempt surfing for the first time in California. We picked them up that day and put them in her open air Jeep, myself in the back seat to hold them down as we drove there. It was warm and sunny in San Luis Obispo at the time, but the course of thedrive revealed fog down at the ocean by Pismo Beach. I remember those moments to myself…thinking of how different this was than anything I had ever done before, and how different this place was than anywhere I had been. With it though, came an honest and unbridled joy for what I was about to experience, though I had no clue what it would be. What would that day bring? What would that year bring? What would life bring?

We arrived and met up with the group. The staff member and two other guys joined us in the surfing; the other girls and guys remained on the beach. Amy and I attempted surfing for about an hour and a half before we were exhausted and headed back to shore. We joined the group to go to the legendary Splash Café up the street to grab lunch. Later, back down on our towels on the sand and enjoying our food, I remember interacting with the guy from Colorado I was beginning to get to know. I remember looking at him in that moment and thinking that my life was going to be different with him now in it. He was full of joy, a little crazy and overenthusiastic, but contagious nonetheless. Our group spent much of the day there before we went back to our dorm and back into the beginning of “beginning-adult” or college life that we were learning to navigate.

As I sat on the beach on August 1st of 2011, I looked at this calm man beside me, wearing very few lines of childhood on his face, and I remembered the overenthusiastic, contagious, joyful young man he was then. Now, he is my husband, and I his wife, almost six years later.

Unlike the Pacific Coast I resided upon where the waters were almost always too cold to go into, this Atlantic water was the perfecttemperature. Therefore, I went out and swam a bit. I jumped the waves, remembering the unbridled joy as a child I had in doing so, and then arched my back as I trusted the dense seawater to hold me afloat. Ebb and flow. I was one with the water and the water with me…and in those moments I was reassured beyond all doubt that the Lord knows every part of me and my heart, for I couldn’t imagine much better than floating in the warm ocean in the presence of the Lord with my husband on shore watching me. In those moments, I knew we are exactly where we are supposed to be now.

And so the beach is the bridge. The beach connects me to the beginning of my college and independent life, and the beginning of self-sufficient married life. There are so many similarities in feelings and thoughts… the bridge possesses an honest and unbridled joy for what I did and will experience, remembering what was and not knowing fully what the futurewould be, what would that day, year, and ultimately, life bring.

In moments here in New York City, I feel so young all over again. I feel overwhelmed at the prospect of my entire life before me. But, I look back to the other side of the bridge and remember who I was then and see what six years has brought. I remember that six years ago, I had no idea where I would be now, but that bridge has been built and now I see. That’s the intermediate context I have for now. It’s a six-year bridge of the beach that connects then to now. There’s another bridge to be built from here; I know, and that’s all I know. It’s okay to be beginning again. The bridges are built beautifully with the care of the Lord and the passage of time.

Poverty of Spirit

Every subway ride is different.

During the workweek, the stations I frequent are the same, but the ebb and flow of a human group is always changing. Occasionally, I do see the same people, as we will take the trains at the same time in the same car, each holding to our own routine as if to preciously guard some semblance of normalcy and routine in a place where there is so little. But that too, gets interrupted. As good as one can get at putting on the blinders and attempting to enacting our own opaque personal bubble where we cannot see or be seen, reality does puncture it. Then, we are forced to witness people and events not of our own choosing. There are no filters for humanity on a subway ride except for two dollars and twenty-five cents.

It was between 51st and Grand Central, a ride of about two minutes, where I witnessed one of the most public displays of an impoverished spirit in a long time, and especially so for here. I stepped on the train as the doors were closing, and the car reeked of alcohol. There was a man, relatively calm yet dejected, with what appeared to be a freshly casted and bandaged arm. Next to him was a woman, his companion, who looked on the brink of despair. She had laid her head heavily on his shoulder. Then, her eyes started raining and her mouth wailing, as she collapsed into his lap. He stroked her, as if he understood her pain, and that it was okay even as she was making a scene. This woman had broken, in what seemed to be every way.

I don’t know their story. I only know what I saw in the two minute ride before I transferred trains, but my mind attempts to fill the gaps. Was he just injured? Did he lose his job, and is their financial future in doubt because of it? It looks like they just came from a hospital, maybe someone close to them died? They have their suitcases with them, were they just evicted? Or, are they simply the bearers of much pain, and this was the point in which it became too heavy a load for her to bear?

I don’t know.

And I don’t know what to do in times like this except pray. It was such a private display in such a public place that I felt as if I were intruding on something I shouldn’t be, seeing something I shouldn’t see. I prayed for their pain. I prayed that they would receive God’s mercy. I prayed that they would see hope somewhere and know God is the source.

Witnessing something like this is uncomfortable. It makes one realize the true poverty of spirit that exists in the hearts of many. We are broken but we try to hide it; we are dejected but we dare not ever show it, except for those moments where we simply can’t help it, when it simply becomes too much to hold inside and it must overflow whenever and wherever it releases itself. It is uncomfortable because in just one moment, we are hit hard in the face with the reality of our differences and similarities we share with our common men, and the lines are blurred. “I would help them if I knew them” is a common response, citing our differences as the reason. But the secondary response is “why does that have to be a qualifier for help?”

I don’t know.

What I do know is that we live in a world full of pain. Most of it is just more private than what I witnessed. Yet, this public display reminded me that they are not the only ones with pain. We are good at trying to hide, but in a place like New York City, pain is so often worn visibly across the sagging lines of a face, the emptiness of soul in the eyes, and the slumping physical body. People are weary and hurting. If you truly open your eyes to look, it cannot be ignored.

And it cannot be ignored in me that I can be a part of the solution. I know that somehow in some of these moments, God willing, I can be an instrument of his love and grace. When I look at these people and see their pain, I become intimidated at the depth of it that I forget how easy providing a little relief can be. First, let me look at them with these eyes with a look of gentleness they may not often see in this city, that they may know their presence is acknowledged, not ignored. Second, may I give them a small smile, to engage with them in a sign of human connectedness that they may know that they have been seen, singled out. It’s after these steps I tend to get a bit stuck. Do I talk to them? Will I understand them? What do I talk to them about?

When I get stuck, I end up praying for them. I know that God knows them and sees them, and He can do far more for them than I ever could. Yet, there’s a problem in this, and that is that I do not pray for myself. I do not listen nor ask how I may be His hands and His feet, bringing forth His words and His love. I simply pray for the other person, and ask God to bring relief to them through His divine presence and perhaps, another person who knows Him. But, I am missing out and mostly, so are these people.

I am intimidated by the amount of pain that I see. I forget that I do not have to be the solution, but that I can be part of the relief. I am intimidated at the prayer I know I must pray now, and that is that I would actively be the hands and feet of Christ in part of a world and pain I do not know. Yet I am compelled. I must, for every subway ride is different. Every subway ride provides an opportunity to bring relief to someone’s pain.

For the Scripture says, “Everyone who believes in him will not be put to shame.” For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all, bestowing his riches on all who call on him. For “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” But how are they to call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!”
Romans 10:11-15

Before Irene

“The floods have lifted up, O Lord,
the floods have lifted up their voice;
the floods lift up their roaring…”

Irene is arriving. Hours now lie between what is now and what will be then, then, after the hurricane hits, however it hits. There is all kinds of speculation and predictions, fears and lack of fear, within this region, country, and perhaps world.

There is a sense of anticipation unlike others I have felt before. Part of it is the reality that I’ve never been around a hurricane before, and this one will likely be significant. Moreso, it seems to be the feeling of anticipation of God’s moving, of God’s sovereignty and timing of this hurricane coming when it is (the first hurricane to directly hit NYC in over 100 years), and that John and I are here when we are. I believe we are here for such a time as this. NYC is such an epicenter of the world, seemingly indestructible and invincible, but in times like this, incredibly vulnerable. In many ways, I think it is a complex icon for the human heart. Yet, God is “…mightier than the thunders of many waters, mightier than the waves of the sea, the Lord on high is mighty!” (Psalm 93:3-4)

I’m praying that our hearts will be sensitive to these circumstances and how God wishes to use them. I pray we will be ministers of His grace and gospel throughout it all. We do not know what the next 48 hours look like, and those 48 hours determine a lot of what the near future looks like here. But I know the Lord, and I know He will never change in an uncertain future, hurricane or not.

Praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord, O my soul! 
I will praise the Lord as long as I live;
I will sing praises to my God while I have my being.
Put not your trust in princes,
in a son of man, in whom there is no salvation.
When his breath departs he returns to the earth;
on that very day his plans perish.
Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the Lord his God,
who made heaven and earth,
the sea, and all that is in them,
who keeps faith forever;
who executes justice for the oppressed,
who gives food to the hungry.
The Lord sets the prisoners free;
the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down;
the Lord loves the righteous.
The Lord watches over the sojourners;
he upholds the widow and the fatherless,
but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.
The Lord will reign forever,
your God, O Zion, to all generations.
Praise the Lord!
Psalm 146

An Impersonal Majority

Today I walked the block and a half to our fruit and vegetable market. It is a trip so close and worth it (good, cheap fruits and veggies), but I always find myself hesitant to make it. I did today though, and when I got there, I breathed a sigh of relief because the only other one in the store was the cashier, who is, to put it simply, a lot more like me than many others in this neighborhood. I gathered my items and went to purchase them. The cashier and I engaged in a bit of small talk, and I left and walked the block and a half back to our apartment, veggies and fruit in hand.

I’ve been thinking about my relief I felt in the store today and why I felt it. And I realized that that my inhibition in being out in this neighborhood is that I almost always feel as if I am being judged and/or watched. John and I talked about this tonight, and the fact is, I am. Because I am not Jewish, I will be judged here, seen as one who does not belong. And because I am not black, I am seen as an outsider, one who is lost or out of place. I know that I can’t assume that everyone thinks this. But because there have been more than a few instances of this, I assume it is true at least to an extent.

Sometimes it is frustrating. Sometimes it is intimidating. Sometimes it is aggravating. Sometimes it is not a big deal, and goes unnoticed. Almost all of the time, it is unfamiliar. I have seldom known what it is to be viewed as an outsider, and especially because of the way that I dress, my unapparent religious beliefs, or the color of my skin.

I have said before that I thought in moving to NYC, moving to Brooklyn would be less of a culture shock than Manhattan. I continue to find my hypothesis to be incorrect; the opposite is true. Other than being in the minority of people who have a significant hearing loss, this is the only other time I’ve truly felt to be something I have seldom experienced before:

A minority.

Sometimes it is easy to feel the desire to shirk back, to just slip in and out of our apartment and the five blocks between here and the subway and try to go unnoticed, and sometimes I do that. But overall, I think that is silly. We are all people. The love of Christ that I have experienced and know compels me to give, to serve, to look for opportunities to meet people’s needs, and to take them. I have been able to do that here in different instances. There are people I have seen the needs of, but was shut down and rejected by them when I offered help. There have been other times where I saw a need but didn’t know how to meet it or simply didn’t do it. But the recurring theme in this is that

We are a people in need.

And as a follower of Christ, I am compelled to give and meet those needs.

It isn’t easy though. I’m learning how to recognize people who are open to a conversation or having a need met. There was an older woman artist who approached me yesterday and asked for help finding a certain subway line. We ended up taking the same one and so we walked together and engaged in conversation. It ended when we got to the station, but then I picked it back up again. I learned of who she is in simple laymans terms and was invited to her gallery show starting in September. I gave her my email so she could send me an invitation to it, and we boarded the subway. I was on for just one stop, and when I got off, we both said goodbye cheerfully to one another.

Isn’t this how it should be?

I believe so. I believe that though we are people who put on the front of wanting to be self-sufficient, we do crave community and welcome help, even from a complete stranger. It’s just that some people have more barriers in their lives, whether self-placed or not, that keep them from receiving it from people they do not know. Sometimes it is religion. Sometimes it is race. Sometimes it is another factor we don’t know of.

I started rereading a book last night that I started a few years ago. In the first chapter, it referenced a famous experiment by Dr. John Calhoun involving mice. Here is the summary from Wikipedia in simple layman’s terms:

In July 1968 four pairs of mice were introduced into the Utopian universe. The universe was a 9-foot (2.7 m) square metal pen with 54-inch-high (1.4 m) sides. Each side had four groups of four vertical, wire mesh “tunnels”. The “tunnels” gave access to nesting boxes, food hoppers, and water dispensers. There was no shortage of food or water or nesting material. There were no predators. The only adversity was the limit on space.

Initially the population grew rapidly, doubling every 55 days. The population reached 620 by day 315, after which the population growth dropped markedly. The last surviving birth was on day 600. This period between day 315 and day 600 saw a breakdown in social structure and in normal social behavior. Among the aberrations in behavior were the following: expulsion of young before weaning was complete, wounding of young, inability of dominant males to maintain the defense of their territory and females, aggressive behavior of females, passivity of non-dominant males with increased attacks on each other which were not defended against. After day 600 the social breakdown continued and the population declined toward extinction. During this period females ceased to reproduce. Their male counterparts withdrew completely, never engaging in courtship or fighting. They ate, drank, slept, and groomed themselves – all solitary pursuits. Sleek, healthy coats and an absence of scars characterized these males. They were dubbed “the beautiful ones”.

The conclusions drawn from this experiment were that when all available space is taken and all social roles filled, competition and the stresses experienced by the individuals will result in a total breakdown in complex social behaviors, ultimately resulting in the demise of the population. Calhoun saw the fate of the population of mice as a metaphor for the potential fate of man.”

I love what Charles Swindoll, the author, has to say about this, and I will leave the thought here:

“What was most interesting to the observers was the strong independence, the extreme isolation syndrome of the mice. This was greatly emphasized by the fact that courtship and mating—the most complex activities for mice—were the first activities to cease. What result would similar conditions have on humanity? What would be the results of overcrowded conditions on an inescapable planet with all the accompany stress factors? Dr. Calhoun suggested that we would fist of all cease to reproduce our ideas, and along with ideas, our goals, ideals, and values would be lost.

It’s happening.

Our world has become a large, impersonal, busy institution. We are alienated from each other. Although crowded, we are lonely. Distant. Pushed together but uninvolved. No longer do most neighbors visit across the backyard fence. The well-manicured front lawn is the modern moat that keeps barbarians away. Hoarding and flaunting have replaced sharing and caring. It’s like we are occupying common space but have no common interests, as if we’re on an elevator with rules like ‘No talking, smiling, or eye contact allowed without written consent of the management.’

Painful though it may be for us to admit it here in this great land of America, we’re losing touch with one another. The motivation to help, to encourage, yes, to serve our fellow man is waning. People have observed a crime in progress but refused to help so as to not be involved. Even our foundational values are getting lost in these confusing days. And yet, it is these things that form the essentials of a happy and fulfilled life."

Charles Swindoll, Improving Your Serve, page 3

Trust and Hope.

Trust and Hope.

I’ve always known that these are related, but I think in my life, I have placed a distinction between the two. I would think about trust, and I would think about hope. The definitions in my mind have always been slightly different from one another. Up until recently, I haven’t recognized that this is perhaps a problem.

Last week, I was offered and I accepted a full-time job as an Advertising/Promotions Associate at HarperCollins Publishers in Manhattan. The significance of this is still sinking in. Over a year ago, John and I started praying about a possible move to NYC. In those prayers of asking God what types of things I should pursue, he laid book publishing on my heart. I believe He laid it on my heart as a step into a call I believe I will eventually be doing one day: writing a book. I don’t really know all the steps in between here and there, but I know that God is in the process, and I must be faithful to it.

Back in late May/early June, I remember setting my mind upon this belief: book publishing is a field nearly impossible to get into. I had applied for numerous book publishing positions at different publishers over this last year when we were in Colorado, and I heard absolutely nothing back on any of them. When June rolled around and I knew that we would be moving to NYC the following month, I looked around again. I found a few positions listed and saved them, but didn’t do anything about it at the time. I didn’t really feel like it was worth it. We spent much of June on the road, including our trip out here to find an apartment. On the last day that we were visiting and had a signed lease and address in our hands, I decided to look again in book publishing and see what might be out there. I felt about the same level of enthusiasm as I had earlier that month, but I did find one position that I thought could be a good fit from the position description. I filled out the application in our hotel room, and it was the briefest application out of all the others. It didn’t even ask for a cover letter, something I had spent much time laboring over with the other positions. I clicked submit and left it with the thought of “well, at least I’m trying, and we’ll see if anything happens, though I doubt it.”

It is funny even reading these words I write now to really remember what I was thinking. In my mind, I have trusted the Lord. I know He is faithful to provide and knows my and John’s needs. I have seen Him do it over and over again, and I know I need not doubt Him in this new season. When I was offered this job, I wasn’t surprised. I know it is within God’s character to do so and that He could make a way where there seemed to be no way.

But in the process, I recognize that I have reserved hope.

My first interview at HarperCollins went well. I first met with the HR director, and then with who will be my supervisor. I left the interview feeling good about it, but told myself to not get overconfident, or to basically hope too much. I didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment, especially since it was my first interview, and it was still the first week John and I were living in the city. I knew that things could happen quickly, but thought it better not to outrightly hope for it, just in case. So, I went onward from there looking and applying for more jobs while waiting to hear back from HarperCollins within the week with their decision. “It is the smart thing to do,” I told myself, though deep down inside I had my doubts about it, feeling as if I wasn’t being entirely obedient or honoring to God. Four business days passed since my interview, and I had applied for about 8 jobs at that point. In that process too, doors that were once open closed rather dramatically, specifically with a creative staffing agency I had been in contact with. I knew, deep down that God was working in this situation and making the way clear, but still, I reserved hope until I would hear from them.

Then, Thursday came. I woke up that morning not feeling well at all and with a strong conviction/desire to not apply for any jobs that day. I think God used the sickness to render me listless to do so, because He knows how determined I am to do things when I set my mind to do so. So, the whole day, I didn’t really do anything at all. At about 4 p.m. that afternoon, I received an email from the HR director asking me to come back for a final interview. That wasn’t what I was expecting, but it was progress and I was thankful. It was set up for the following morning.

We went to a prayer gathering at our new church that evening, and there was time to sit still before the Lord individually and pray about certain topics introduced by the elders. One was jobs. As I sat before the Lord, I was honest with Him. I told Him that I was hesitant to hope as I didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment. In that moment though, I knew it was wrong. I knew I needed to present my requests before Him as I desire them, and to trust Him with them. So, I asked Him for this job. I told Him I recognized He had been making a way with this position and into this field, something He laid on my heart long ago and something that I wrote off as being too “impossible.” I asked Him to help me hope and trust that this position is where I am supposed to be, and that the interview the next day would only further that.

And in those prayers, I recognized that it was my heart that has been guarded. My heart, with where I would credit to be the place where hope is born and preserved. As I prayed those prayers, the guards of my heart resisted to come down because I didn’t want to be disappointed. And I wondered how I got here. I wondered, why am I guarding my heart from the One who has created it, the One who has crafted the desires He places within it, and the One who knows it and holds it far better than I can? Why do I feel the need to guard it from its safekeeper? In reality, all I am doing is preventing myself from fully accepting what He has already set into motion and is doing.

And in that time, I knew the reason for the second interview rather than a definite answer about the position. Here was another chance to not only trust, but to hope in the Lord with this job and field. That meant that I needed to heed His leading and requests, to trust and hope that the way He was creating is where I am meant to go. I failed the first time through. Yet His grace offered me another chance.

The interview was the following morning, and I was greeted and escorted by the person who I last interviewed with. She was very happy to see me, and that was reassuring. I interviewed with the director of my department, and it was wonderful. It was like sitting in a beloved professor’s office where conversation flowed easily and well. We talked about things I could do with HarperCollins and their department. We talked about different accommodations that would be needed in the workplace with my hearing loss. We talked through a lot of different things, and when we left, I told her and the person I interviewed with the time before, “See you soon,” as that rolled off my tongue uncontrollably. As I left, I cringed inside for saying that because I thought I would come off as presumptuous, but it had already been done. Yet, inside I knew that things had gone very well, and that there was even more reason to hope and trust for this position, with which I was to wait another week to hear the final decision on.

I didn’t apply for any more jobs. I allowed my logic to be overplayed by the aim of attempting to trust and hope in the way the Lord appeared to be making. So, the week was quiet until Wednesday, when I got an email from the HR director saying he would be reaching out to me the next day about the position. I knew that was a good sign, so I thanked the Lord. The following morning, I received the offer letter for the position, and accepted a few hours later. The job search was done. God was faithful, as always. But the process of reconciling hope and trust is just beginning.

This morning, I started looking at the Greek to see what the root for hope and trust are, and if they are two separate words or one. I looked at several verses, but these two key ones came forth:

“For we are saved by hope, but hope that is seen is not hope; for what a man sees, why does he hope for it? But if we hope for what we do not yet see, then we wait with patience for it.” Romans 8:24-25

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen.” Hebrews 11:1

The word “hope” in this context comes from the Greek word Elpizo, a verb, which means, and directly translates into TRUST, and is defined as:
     1. to hope
     a. in a religious sense, to wait for salvation with joy and full confidence
     2. hopefully to trust in

These are not meant to be two different concepts. I am not to divide trust to be with my mind and hope to be with my heart. If I am doing that, then I am missing both altogether, as they are one. I need to “trust the Lord with all my heart, and lean not on my own understanding.” I need to have “faith as the assurance of things hoped for.”

I need not reserve an emotional response (what I have been defining as hope), for if I am doing that, I am also reserving trust. The Lord is the Lord of my heart, my soul, my mind, and my spirit. Though different parts, they are meant to operate as one entity, and I am meant to love the Lord as one entity. I am meant to trust and hope with the Lord as one entity. I need not guard my heart against the One who already holds it.

As Paul writes to the Corinthians, “We have spoken freely to you, Corinthians; our heart is wide open. You are not restricted by us, but you are restricted in your own affections. In return (I speak as to children) widen your hearts also.” 2 Corinthians 6:11-13.

And in conclusion, I feel the Lord speaking this also directly to me this morning:

“I have spoken freely to you, Elise, and my heart is wide open. You are not restricted by me, but you are restricted in your own affections. In return, I ask you to widen your heart.”