White Girl Losses

I can't do it.... I just can't. I have sat in front of this computer for over an hour now, a mess... tears down my face... my insides all twisted and throbbing and aching...

I am just a mess. And I am at a loss -

a loss for words because I don't know what to say to make any of this right. 

I wish I could eloquently and articulately explain how wrong it all is or lay out statistics and sociological truths, and I wish I could logically and rationally explain through social media outlets the complex and painful world that we live in, and I wish I was well-versed and knowledgable enough to break down the arguments against racism and against hoisting that damn confederate flag around our country, and I wish I could do it all in a way that didn't make so many people from my hometown and family resent me.

a loss of courage because I care so much about what my people think of me that I remain silent instead of speak out against what is wrong. 

And it is wrong. It is so wrong. My God, everything is so wrong. People are dying... how can so many people not care? How is it that so many people on my Facebook and in my life don't care? Or even worse - they care... but only about themselves and posting their arguments to put the blame on anyone or anything else but racism and the systematic injustice that has for centuries oppressed people of color.... A black person (black people, so many people) dies unjustly at the hands of a system supposedly there to protect him/her, and you make this about you and your life mattering!?! You spin their story into some rhetoric about how he/she deserved it because they smoked weed? I have smoked weed before. Does that mean I deserve to be throttled alive, shot in the head, or the back, or left to die in a prison cell? Oh, she talked back to the officer? I talk back to authority all the time. In fact, I am often praised for it whereas people of color are literally eliminated from the earth while we stand back posting unflattering photos all over the media sphere, and nod our heads as we righteously explain: "She had it coming, acting like that." Don't you see what is happening!? It is racism! It is injustice! It is this wrong, wrong world. But I wouldn't say that because then we'll get in a fight in the comment section of my Facebook or you'll make me leave the house until I cool off and "see sense again."

a loss. Just a loss. So much loss. 

Because my coworker texts me, asking me to pray for her boyfriend, a black male, that was on the phone talking to her when he got pulled over, and it had been thirty minutes since he called her back and she is scared for his life. 

Because my friend living in Chicago is afraid to drive around her city because with any wrong move, it could be her name we see all over Twitter and Facebook. 

Because my roommate just had her birthday, and we wanted to celebrate by going for a hike at Stone Mountain, but there is a rally to stand for and celebrate the same southern heritage that fought to the death to keep her people enslaved. 

Because my student tells me that when he walks the streets of Georgia Tech at night, white students run away from him or cross the street quickly to avoid crossing paths with a black man with a hoodie on in December with a backpack full of chemistry books. 

Because my best friend calls me while she is driving to help her friend move, weeping... in hysterics.... because every where she looks there are confederate flags hanging from every car window, the driver not even realizing or not even caring just how much pain and fear this is causing her. I want to smash the window in, rip the flag out and scream and shout: "Do you see this woman? Look at her. This is my best friend, and she is the most beautiful person I've ever met and HOW DARE YOU? How dare you care more about your damn agenda and your 'southern heritage' than this beautiful, precious, wonderful life right here?"  ...this life, her life... his life... these remarkable lives... so many incredible people made in the glorious image of a merciful Creator, a Creator that, despite our insistence to the contrary, certainly thinks that Black Lives Matter. 

And Black lives, they do matter... so much. 

Because at any point, I could replace the word "black" with the name of any one my friends. Friends that have taught me more about the Gospel than I ever learned in a sermon. Friends that lament and mourn and grieve and raise their hands, imploring God to do something, while they are attacked on Facebook for expressing their feelings because to admit that this is wrong and it hurts and it is scary and racism exists is actually "perpetuating racism." ("racism against white people" "all lives matter" "etc")/(And by the way, what the hell kind of argument is that!?!?) Friends that show me steadfast grace when I say something insensitive, or when my privilege allows me to not have to deal with this injustice in the same way or at all, or when I get uncomfortable with their pain and don't know what to say. Friends that have taught me the meaning of long-suffering and unshakable faith in a God that will restore and bring freedom, at long last. Friends that open up, willingly sharing their stories of pain and brokenness and their experience of being black in this country - friends that choose to trust me despite all of the ways that I have hurt them in the past with my insensitive and ignorant remarks and jokes. My black friends teach me about Jesus. My black friends are some of the best parts of my life. 

And it comes to this. Because this is a long, emotional post that amounts to nothing except: "I am a white woman at a loss for how to deal with this." I am a white woman that struggles with her own racial prejudices. And her tensions of wanting to get defensive instead of confronting the twisted evil that my people have committed against people of color in the past and admitting that I am where I am today because of the ways that has shot me to the top of the ladder. And her fears that she will get yelled at or unfriended on Facebook if she says something against the status quo or posts this when she is finished writing it. 

Not to mention her attempts to write a blog that says something of value, that says something meaningful and true and foundational about racism and the lives of her black friends, but instead she makes it all about her and how 'hard' it is to live in this place of: "Honestly, I don't know what to do. And I'm scared if I speak up, I will get shot down." 

These are my white girl losses... the resounding, pulsating effects of my privilege. These are the gnawing, ripping sensations of feeling powerless for once in my life. These are the hands held open to my black friends, teachers, coworkers, mentors, roommates, and spiritual family, and these are the words I wish I could say: "I am so sorry. I can never express the evil we have done, the evil we still do. I wish it all was over. I wish the world saw you and treasured you in all the million ways you are worthy of. I wish the world was fair. I wish I wasn't so selfish and whiny so often, making our conversations and making blog posts about how uncomfortable this all is for me. And thank you. You can never know how much you mean to me. For you have shown me Jesus, you are his flesh... his hands that warmly grip me as you say, 'I forgive you.'"

White girl losses. Not even a whisper of what the black community has lost this year and throughout the centuries. 

White girl losses.

-----

but losses can lead to new life.

 "Steadfast love and faithfulness meet; righteousness and peace kiss each other." Psalm 85:10 

Hundreds of people walk the mountain with flags strapped to their backs, waving them proudly in their hands.

But look: there He is also. The man stripped bare, bloody and bruised, He is carrying the heavy wooden cross up the mountain upon which he will die, He carries it for us. He carries it for all of us. The oppressed... the oppressor... He carries it for this messed up world. He carries it that the poor would know good news - that the broken-hearted would be made whole - that those who mourn would know joy - that those in prison would be guilty no longer - that those enslaved... would be set free. Truly Free. Free Indeed.

Come Lord Jesus. Bring back what was lost.  

Hope For When A Quarter-Life Crisis Strikes

The other night, a few friends and I were hanging out at my place and discussing all matters of life. In this conversation, it suddenly occurred to me that I would be turning 25 this year. My heart began to race as my stomach dropped - this can't be happening... 25 is as close to 30 as it is to 20! I can't really be an adult yet... I mean, I'm not even married! Aren't you only an adult if you're married?? What have I really done with my life so far? Have I accomplished anything of value!? I mean, my dad still has to pay for my car insurance... I am still in the nest! I don't want to fly away! STOP TIME, STOP MOVING FORWARD!

I had a miniature quarter life crisis, I guess.

A few days later, I sat down to process what I was feeling in the midst of that complete psychological breakdown. And I realized: It has been nearly five years since I turned 20 years old. Five years of my life where I was living away from my parents, sorting out my own life, with freedom to do whatever my heart desired... and in all those five years... what had I really done?

If one were to measure the worth of my life - what great strives or accomplishments I have made in the past five years, I don't think anyone would be impressed.

What do I have to show for financial gains? Vocational success? Relational progress? I never traveled the world on a post-grad backpacking trip. I haven't figured out how health insurance works or how to maintain great credit or how to consistently mow the yard. I didn't go get my Masters and find an excellent, well paying job serving the underprivileged of our society as my undergrad degree prepared me for. I didn't find love in a hopeless place and settle down in a nice house in a good part of town. I haven't saved any lives recently, I haven't gotten anything published, I haven't had the starring role in any theatre productions...

So what have I done? Do the past five years of my life have any value at all?

It was truly a very depressing time of self-absorption and personal reflection. And honestly, since that event, I have been feeling very uneasy and even sickly. It was as if mortality, the weight of death and brokenness and hopelessness set in to remind me life is a whisper, and I was failing to make the most of it. I believe many of us can resonate with this. We all taste and desire that hope of greatness - we want our lives to matter. We all know life is passing - here in this moment, then gone away forever. We long for something, that in many cases, will never be satisfied.

But last night, Jesus stripped the scales from my eyes. Up to this moment, I was seeing my life and it's value through the lens of the world- the lens that says it is the money you make, the job you have, the martial status you live in, the adventures you take, the greatness you aspire to... it is this that makes you who you are and gives your life value. And through this lens, the past five years of my life may seem like a meaningless waste of time. However, the good and loving work of Jesus in my life was his tender stripping away of this lens, that I could look at my life and see it as Jesus sees it:

My life has value because Jesus has given it immeasurable value. 

I may not have a ton of money, and I may not be ascending the ranks of a prestigious job, and I may just have a bachelors degree, and I may not have seen all the world... but six years ago I decided to follow Jesus, and that.... it changed everything.

I believe it is in the acts of loving obedience... it is in the "yes" we offer up to Jesus even when we are only able to muster a whisper... it is in the trust we place in his hands even when we are desperate for more... it is in the times we try even though we are terrified, and we try and fail, and we try and mess it all up... it is in the moments of victory and in the moments when he feels so close that we are brought to our knees in adoration and praise... it is when we learn to cry "Abba, Father" as we make our way back home to him... it is in the times of clarity and the times of confusion... it is in the tears we cry before him because we just don't understand... it is in the prayers we pray even when hope seems lost... It is this: in our simple, everyday, seemingly insignificant decisions to follow Jesus, to love him, to know him... it is in this that we find our lives have remarkable value.

And it is in this: 

We met our students last night for our weekly gathering and taught them to share the Gospel. I wiped tears from eyes as I watched over them... a sense of God's pleasure over me filled my being. 

 We may not have a hundred students in our fellowship. We may only have ten. We may not have raised all of the money we need to be on campus full-time. We may only be 50% funded. We may not be the best teachers, best trainers, best evangelists, best speakers... in fact, we may be pretty bad at it sometimes. We may scare students off with our loud personalities, we may struggle to do follow-up well, we may only have four students show up to our summer small group every week.

But this is my life. This is what I offer up to Jesus. Every day learning and growing and striving to love him better than I did the day before. Taking risks, learning to trust him, spending some days weeping because I just don't have it figured out, and I am horrible at ministry, and I fail at everything I try... Believing that he will complete the good work he has started in me and Georgia Tech. Rejoicing in the little victories that speak to God's power and faithfulness, not to my skill or charisma. Resting in the knowledge that I am wholly loved, treasured, and valued by the One That Calls Me His Own.

I celebrate what God has done in me these past five years. I celebrate that though it be little, there is now InterVarsity at Georgia Tech/ME when it wasn't there before. I celebrate that God has given us a precious gift... a deeper knowledge and love of him as we struggle to follow him as apostles of his ministry and as his Beloved children. I celebrate in knowing that my life is valued and treasured and pleasing to the Father regardless of how successful I seem to the world. I celebrate in knowing he whispers, "Well done," even if my work seems insignificant to everyone else.

And I celebrate that because Morgan and I decided to trust and follow Jesus, even if it meant giving up worldly success, students at Georgia Tech will be changed just as our own lives were changed by others that decided Jesus' call was worth everything. 

GT students at weekly leadership meeting.

Teaching students how to share the Gospel on campus.

Students practicing their Gospel sharing.

I am now realizing, however, that Jesus... his Kingdom... his Good News... it is folly to the world, but it is hope for me. And it is satisfaction for me. There still may be the sting of incompleteness, it will be there until the world is made right again, but tucked away in the secret, mysterious reality of what I gave my life to - I can say with honesty and integrity, these past five years have not been in vain. 

How Prayer Ministry Made Me Love Jesus More

"If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever, even the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him or knows him. You know him, for he dwells with you and will be in you. I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. Yet a little while and the world will see me no more, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live. In that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you." John 14:15-21

If you want to love Jesus more, do prayer ministry with others. 

I wish I could succinctly explain my relationship toward prayer and using it to minister to others. So instead of explaining it, I will simply say: It has been my biggest fear and the largest area of discomfort for me as I do ministry with students. It's so weird, because I feel so deeply for and with others, and I am usually pretty confident with words, but I am fearful of praying for others, especially as a form of ministry. I fear I won't receive the right words, or God won't come through, or that it will a disappointment to the person I'm praying with...  So in general I have avoided it, even to the point of praying no student will come up to me and ask for it during a conference or camp. Isn't that pathetic?

Anyway, so being called and invited to do prayer ministry at Urbana 15 (which InterVarsity helps host and is the largest missions conference in the world) and receiving training for it was a blow to the gut I wasn't anticipating. I remember laughing in fear and irony after I hung up the phone, because isn't it just like to God to come and address the areas of brokenness and fear in our lives? That phone call was months ago, and I have been shaking in my boots since then - anticipating the ways my comfort was going to be destroyed in the process of facing some of my deepest spiritual fears. Yet, also... hopeful. Because in all of my years of knowing and following Jesus, he has never led me somewhere too difficult to tread alone and then abandoned me. I have always come through hand-in-hand with him... eventually.

And I did come through, eventually. 

This past week at Prayer Ministry Training was one of the most physically, spiritually, and emotionally exhausting and grueling weeks of my life. I mean, I came back with bloodshot eyes and shaking hands and slept for over 15 hours. But never in my life has my heart been so full to bursting with love for Jesus and thankfulness for his good work in me and the world. When I fell for Jesus, I fell completely and beautifully over my head for him... and after this week, I can't believe there is still more room to fall... a lifetime to fall even deeper in love with him. 

The reality is I love Jesus more after this past week of training because one: I did at last face my fears and step fully into learning about how to administer prayer ministry, and what a shock - it wasn't nearly as scary or difficult as I thought. And because two: I gained significant healing in the midst of being the receiver of prayer ministry more than once. But the biggest, most unexpected reason why I love Jesus more and also number three: It has been through doing prayer ministry with others that I have caught the most breathtaking and beautiful glimpses of Jesus I have ever seen in my life. 

My words fail to describe it, but prayer ministry involves going with others into their souls and their places of pain and the center of their fears, their distrust toward God, their most difficult and piercing memories, their darkest moments and most terrible sins... You grab someone's hand, and you say: "I will go with you to that place." And it is hard, tears were shed as I witnessed what evil was committed to people, what fears were consuming, what lies were existing as a block between them and Jesus... And since I am gifted in feeling what others feel, it was very difficult at times to go on. But in those moments, we call out and ask Jesus to reveal himself. We invite him to speak. And we listen.

And what a marvelous thing to stand with someone in that corner of beauty and pain. 

What an incredibly wondrous gift... to watch Jesus love someone else. To watch Jesus enter into that place - to hear his words of love... to see him be a good and perfect Father, to be the friend that never abandons, the comforter that speaks truth and acceptance and healing and encouragement over the lies, and brokenness, and pain we have experienced and afflicted to others. It felt like a precious and special gift, like I was given the chance to catch secret glimpses of two lovers through a window. It affirmed the reality that I have always believed but never truly known... God is Love and Love never fails us. 

As I continued to meet with different people throughout the week, I grew in confidence in prayer ministry. Not because I felt like I was skilled and able to do it (though the training did certainly equip me) but the reason I felt this way is because I realized it isn't about me at all. I only help create the space for someone to meet Jesus, and he always comes to us. It is not my responsibility to speak the right words, because Jesus knows the words he longs to say, and he speaks them to our souls. I don't need to worry about God coming through, because our Father longs to communicate his love and his might and his truth to us, we need only open ourselves up and let him.

Truly our hearts were made for him. 

I have forever been changed by doing prayer ministry, and I can't wait to engage others with it for the rest of my life. Witnessing the glory and love of God for others has made me fall more deeply in love with the God Who Comes to Us. Sharing in the pain and beauty of other's heartbreak and victory has revealed more to me about our God-like image and more about the goodness of God's Kingdom - where he wipes away all tears, takes away all brokenness, shines light on all darkness, removes all pain, reconciles all peoples, and builds his Kingdom on truth, righteousness, Shalom, justice, love and praise for his name. 

Prayer ministry really is a glimpse through Heaven's gates. 

And imagine if fear kept me from walking through. 

Thank you, loving Father.
You always come. You always restore.

You hold us tenderly in that corner of beauty and pain. 

____

It's ironic because I have received some truly transformative and healing interactions with Jesus through prayer ministry. In fact, the first time I did was in Wisconsin during my ONS (Orientation for New Staff) in 2013. Little did I know that two years later I would be in the same place, during the same time, helping others receive transformation and healing with Jesus. What an amazing God I know and love. You can read some of that here and here. 

The Incredibly Strange, Hard to Explain Story of Why I Decided to Follow Jesus

Seventh grade- literally pretending to be an elf queen.

The first time I heard God's voice, I was only 14 years old, a month away from turning 15. I was a raggedy kid - I had a tendency to lie and exaggerate to make things sound more dramatic, I never wore anything but t-shirts and jeans that didn't fit, and I made a point to always cut my own hair. There was nothing special about me... nothing to identify me apart from the other people around me. I had barely been to church at this point and knew very little about God or Jesus or the Bible. I was obsessed with Lord of the Rings and still spent Saturdays running around the woods pretending I was an elf. (I sadly still do this.)

Yet somehow, mysteriously... wondrously... I began to have dreams of Jesus. 

Not many people know this because honestly, it is just strange and weird to tell people. I didn't really know Jesus or his story at this point in my life, yet all of sudden he was in all of my dreams. I remember being frightened of this, and I asked my mom why it kept happening and she told me to ask God about it. I didn't really know how to pray, so I decided the next best thing was to take a family Bible and open it to the first page it fell on and see if that yielded any understanding.

Holding the book in my hands, I timidly let it fall open in my lap. My eyes scanned the page, and the first words I took in was a sub-line that said: "Daniel Interprets the Dream." I can still remember how my heart felt like it completely stopped, and I knew if it didn't start beating again soon, I would die. Luckily... it did. I read through the whole page, and nothing made sense or stuck out to me except one verse that said, "No wise men, enchanters, magicians or astrologers can show to you the mystery that you have asked, but there is a God in heaven who reveals mysteries." (c. 2, v. 26) I somehow realized that whatever was happening was not from me, and it was just the beginning. And it was at this point that I decided I believed that there was a God. 

Months went by, and I began to start reading the Gospels. I began with Matthew, and it got off to a bit of a boring start considering half the page was a list of names I couldn't pronounce. However, I got deeper into the story of the mysterious God-man named Jesus, and he fascinated me. He made no sense and didn't line up with my understanding of the fiery, vengeful God I had heard of before... he radiated kindness. He defended the weak and the poor and the strange. I felt like he was always rooting for the underdog, and I liked that since I was, unfortunately, a high schooler that still ran around the woods pretending I was an elf.

Around this time, my family began going to church consistently for the first time in my life. I started learning about how to pray and read the Bible, and all through this time I was growing more fond of Jesus, and I hesitantly began praying and spending time with this God I didn't understand.

One fall night, I was sitting outside my house on my front porch steps, waiting in longing and desperation for Chinese food that seemed like it would never be delivered (my definition of hell) when I felt a resounding sense of what can only be described as "otherness" around me. I can't fully describe the sensation - I have felt it many times since that moment, but at the time, it felt like a strange but light pressure on my chest and my heart started beating quickly and my hands began to shake. Some may say I was experiencing an anemic episode; however, it went beyond my physical reality, it was as if something deeper and unknown inside of me was coming awake. I remember not knowing what to do or say or respond to this weird feeling, so I just said: "God... is that you?" No response. Classic move on his part. Yet even in the silence, I couldn't shake the weird feeling that had settled upon me. I asked again, "God - do you want to, like, tell me something?" And out of no where, one word rang out in my head so loud and clear it was like a mini-person had jumped in my brain and decided to shout: "Hands!" (Yeah, that was bad writing, my apologies.)

"Hands...

Yes....

It all makes sense now. Thanks for that God, I'll log that away. Good chat."

The above is sarcasm, because in reality, I had no idea why the first word I ever heard God speak was "hands." So I decided to pull the old trusty move of opening the Bible randomly and hoping something on the page would make sense. I was an expert at this point in my life, having done it once before successfully. I crossed my fingers and let it fall open.

It fell open to 1 Timothy. And when I read the page, my eyes stopped here:

"Let no one look down on you for being young, but set an example for believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity. Devote yourself to the public reading of Scripture, to exhortation, and to teaching. Do not neglect the gift you have, which was given to you by prophecy when the elders laid their hands on you." (v.11-14)

Shocked to the point of near-death, yet again, I laid the Bible down. Looking around - Chinese food still no where in sight - I wondered if anyone else would ever know how incredibly strange and impossible this all seemed and actually believe it to be true. And a sobering sense of purpose fell upon me - I realized that whatever was happening to me was beyond myself, beyond my ability to fabricate it. I knew that a holy, mysterious God and yet a close God - close enough to speak and I hear, close enough to move and I feel... somehow had picked me out of a crowd and invited me to experience him in an undeniably real way. I knew that he was inviting me to a deeper reality of self, that I was not just a 14 year old kid that ran around the woods all day, but even more so, I was chosen and set apart to play a role in this story that was running through the fabric of humanity. That is was a gift, and that it didn't matter if I was young - what lay ahead was a journey of becoming more and more the self I was created to be.

With tears in my eyes, still basking in my first, sweet taste of the presence of the Holy One, I looked toward heaven, and I felt a voice reach out to me and whisper: "Emmie, come... follow Me."

And in that moment began the greatest love affair of my life. 

A Song of Self

Why do I feel the need to apologize for myself? Is this just a common trait among women? Is not society always asking something else of us as women everyday, and isn't it true we often times feel obligated to make excuses and beg forgiveness for not measuring up or meeting those expectations? Sure. This is probably true for a lot of women. At the same time, I think I have a particularly unique struggle with it.... 24 years old and the struggle to "settle in" and make a home in myself is still quite difficult. 

As I grow older and closer to Jesus and his community in the Church, the more painful and real this struggle becomes. I believe it is because this quality and reality-of-self is exposed for what it is in the Divine Light that illuminates a higher reality: "You are enough. You are lovely. You are crafted in creative, loving and intricate detail to be exactly who you are." It seems ugly things are so much more ugly in the light than they are in the dark.

And so I timidly try to hide my insecurity and disdain of myself from the piercing eyes of the One that see me and know me fully. Instead of dragging my helpless self to this Throne Of Endless Grace, I avoid mirrors. I obsess over how my clothes fit. I exclaim in despair to my best friends: "Why is my hair so damn frizzy? Why do I have such a weak chin and horse teeth?"

But even deeper, I avoid myself. I spend hours reliving moments where I was a little "too much" of myself, if you know what I mean. I have never really fit into the crowds of this world... I'm loud and in-your-face and I stick out and sometimes I feel like my inner world is tuned into some other channel that no one else can get on their internal radio. (What a horrible analogy.... Haha)

And thus a lifetime of self-loathing and insecurity and uncertainty is made. 

I mean.... I'm comfortable in this way of living these days. It's what I am used to. However, as I alluded to earlier, as comfortable as it is to apologize to the world for who I am - this is unacceptable in the Kingdom of the God I Love. When I am before him, this seemingly comfortable reality-of-self is revealed for what it truly is.... an evil and prideful blatant disregard for the unabashedly beautiful, creative work of God. Beneath the twisted, ugly mask of self-hate is a beloved and beautiful  woman, crafted in tenderness to reflect the loveliness of God. 

It doesn't sink in easily... It doesn't hit me fully all that often... But if God and his promises and his words are true, then placed inside of me is a unique mosaic of characteristics of God that he decided to share with the world. 

Could it be... Could it really be that maybe my loud, energetic and passionate spirit in some way reflect the personality of God? Could my curious and inquisitive nature be an intentional trait placed within me to draw me closer to knowledge of Him rather than a burden that annoys people? And my dramatic and emotional and easily fascinated, child-like self that I have resented for years, could it actually not be too overwhelming for people, but rather a gift that brings joy and laughter and vulnerability to the Church and those placed in my life?

And beyond this even- could it be true that I am treasured and necessary and a part of this world simply because I was created, and loved, and given breath by a good and a beautiful God? 

And what would it mean if I refuse to believe this? If I just shrug and say, "Whatever. I'm the exception to this. Besides, it feels a lot better to live in this nice little den of insecurity built around me." 

I think after several catalytic interactions with the loving presence of Jesus, I realize that it would mean this: 

I am doing a grave injustice against myself. I am denying myself the most wonderful gift imaginable- the freedom and beauty of a life forever transformed by a Gospel that claims I am wholly loved and necessary to this world just as I am.

I am committing a grave injustice to God as well. I am saying he was mistaken in making me, and that his goodness and acceptance are wonderful, but not enough to cover me. And perhaps the most tragic of all, I am not allowing him to act out his greatest desire and will toward me- to know me fully, love me fully, that I may know him and love him in return. I simply cannot accept the love he offers completely if I can't accept I am made worth loving in the process. 

And finally, I am also doing a grave injustice to the world. Because I belong here... I carry a unique and beautiful reflection of God and his glory and his infinite goodness. If I refuse to step fully into who I am, I am denying the world a chance to encounter aspects of God mysteriously tucked away within my human flesh. 

I think I am realizing more and more that God is not a supporter of self-hate like our society has forced us to believe is part of being human. He is our biggest advocate- our greatest Friend, and I believe he is dazzled by our beauty and our uniqueness because we look like Him. And you know what else? I wonder what the world would look like if we all believed what God says is true of us... Man, how beautiful the world would be if we lived in the acceptance and the freedom of not having to change our personalities or our bodies past recognition in order to feel the acceptance of self that is already freely given to us by Divine Privilege. What if we looked in the mirror and saw what he saw? And what if we looked within, and instead of finding a broken heart carrying all the baggage packed with things we despise about ourselves, we instead saw the reality: tucked within us is a piece of God himself- beautifully... wonderfully made. 

I don't know where I am going with this... Because I still have a real struggle in this. But I guess where I am at during this moment as my plane descends into Atlanta is here - asking this question: 

What does it mean to be unapologetically, completely and authentically myself? What does it mean for us to all live in the belovedness and acceptance of the God who redeemed us? What if we praised our loveliness, our uniqueness, our quirky traits and our delightful physical imperfections that make us fully human, children of the Righteous King, through whom no mistake was made? 

And what could it mean for the world?

The Longing

Have you ever experienced longing? 

Longing for me has meant different things - but mostly, longing manifests as the unfulfilled desires of my soul. In my years of longing, God has often chosen to satisfy them in ways that I couldn't have imagined for myself.  In some mysterious way, by trusting God and acting in obedience toward him, even if it meant walking away from what I thought I was longing for the most, I have found that he is able to fill the hole that longing created in a beautiful and life-giving way.

And yet, in all my years of experiencing God's provision and faithfulness - I still have moments of intense distrust and dislike of God's intercession in my life. Like... now... for instance. For some strange reason, this new year has created a longing in my soul that has threatened to cave in my entire being. (Could I possibly be more dramatic?) A longing has reared its head in a way that has made it impossible to ignore, impossible to cover up, and in some ways... impossible to deal with. Only a few of my closest friends know the extent of what I am speaking of, but never in my life have I felt so lonely, so empty, or so fearful about the future.

As the weeks have gone by, I have a felt a massive chasm of my own construction separate me from the God that I love. Not only have I been afraid to come to him with this longing, but I have been enraged by the thought of him. For some reason, I just have grown tired of his Lordship in my life. I have resented the ways that he has pulled me from the things I wanted most, so that I could grow in deeper intimacy with him and deeper reliance on him. I have grown resentful of that because is that all I am to you, God? Am I just some little pawn you can move around your board game to accomplish your plans... even if it means that I don't get to have the things that I have longed for? Do you care at all about what I want?

This longing is deeply personal in a way that no other longing has been - it is so intricately connected to my own perceived worth as a person, my identity, my hope for the future... to imagine it unfulfilled for all the days of my life creates unutterable horror for me. And the thought of God choosing against fulfilling it seems almost unforgivable to me. When it came down to it, I would imagine God asking me if I would still love and follow him even if it meant I handed over this longing for the rest of my life... and I realized... making the right choice wasn't as easy as I wanted it to be and this scared me. This longing - it had become an idol.

The longing had created a hole so massive and wide that I couldn't imagine anything ever filling it completely except the Longing-Fufilled itself. And yet, without even realizing it, the longing had actually brought me to the feet of the One that called me his own.

In a moment of absolute abandon and loneliness, I at last gave in. I came - trembling, crawling toward his feet. My tears, taking the form of all the fear I have been harboring about God and his goodness, questions of his faithfulness, all the secret hopes and desires yet unfilled... all of it came crashing onto his feet. And when the last tear was shed, I looked up and found his eyes. He looked on me with wells of kindness, radiating a love and acceptance that I have never before experienced , and in some mysterious way, I was able to see past even that, deeper into his searching glance, and it was there that in his eyes, I saw his own longing.

I saw that he has been longing too. He too has felt the emptiness and the loneliness and the unfulfilled hopes and desires - he too has poured out tears that have demanded a response from his Father... he too has known the sleepless nights. And in that transcendent moment, I somehow knew that part of his longing - his Holy-Longing - was for me. And it has been for me. He longs for me to make a home in him, as he has made a home in me. He longs for me to know him as a good friend, a good Father, a trustworthy Savior. He longs for me to relish cool afternoons walking with him in the garden of my soul, instead of fantasizing over what tantalizing pleasures await outside. He longs for me to give my entire life over to him, not out of fear or hope for heaven - but because I love him. Because I know that nothing else in this world satisfies any longing, aside from him.

And maybe that is the point of it all. We all long. We will all continue to yearn and hope for and desire things that will in many cases, not come to pass in our lifetime. Do we still believe that Jesus is enough? Can we still lift up an "amen, it is well" even when our lives look drastically different from how we had imagined them? Can we trust that his plans are for our good - that he does bring beauty from the ashes and the rubble of our life? Can we fall helplessly, hopelessly into the vast ocean of his love even if our eyes never see the fruits of our labor, the shores of the Promise Land, the Longing-Fulfilled?

~

In the same way, as the sinful woman from Luke 7, I pulled from my robes an alabaster jar filled with my most precious and expensive possession... Even though the freshly shed tears still glistened on his feet, I knew it wasn't enough... it wasn't enough to show the One I Love just how much my heart adores him, needs him, trusts him, delights in him... so I took the jar, and I carefully poured out its contents onto his feet. And from it, a sweet aroma filled within in the room - it smelled of my dreams, my hopes, my fears, my secrets, my love... my longing...

For it was in that moment of absolute worship and submission, that I at last found the most beautiful sacrifice I could ever give:

My whole life.

For Greater Purposes

One by the one, the flashlights were turned on - illuminating the dark amphitheater where hundreds of students had gathered to remember the lives that were lost. As I looked around the room, I tried to stifle the tears because for one fleeting moment, the weight of this calling settled over my spirit, and I realized just why I was here. 

~

I tried writing this a million different ways, and each time it became ridiculously long and wordy. I guess I tend to be that way. So forgive my stream of conscious, ellipses-saturated novel....

Light In Darkness

As some of you may have realized from my status update on Facebook yesterday, we attended a "candlelight" vigil (it was way to cold to go outside and light candles so we used our flashlight apps) to remember the students that took their lives this semester, and really, every semester for many years back. You may not know this, but Georgia Tech has a notoriously high rate of student suicide. Naturally, it is not something that the university is wanting to advertise, so many times the incidents are repressed and made unaware to the student body, and this is necessary to respect privacy in many cases. Morgan and I knew the statistics before we began ministry here because we researched and tried to identify the areas of brokenness on campus - and of course, this fact was one of the most unsettling.

Months go by. And sometimes, it is a miracle for Morgan and I to just hold our head above water with these students. It can be hard to keep up with their high-intensity, unbelievably academic lifestyles. (I mean, I'm sorry but I don't have any remarks to contribute to your conversation about the periodic table of elements or the nature of velocity as it relates to whatever it is your talking about... do you watch Madmen though?)

So it goes that eventually it feels like enough to just have a few of these students show up to study the Bible, and yes... that is something. But how easily I forget the grander scheme of love and transformation that I believe our Father has for this campus and these students. Sometimes I forget that Jesus actually cares that there is a higher than average suicide rate here. Sometimes it doesn't cross my mind that maybe Jesus isn't just here in this room with these nice Christian students I have gathered, but that He may also be in the dorms... sitting with a student that has spent the last two years of his life here and has yet to make one real friend. Maybe Jesus is also in the study room, with the student that is sobbing quietly because even though she studied for hours and days even, she still hasn't been able to pull a passing grade in her class. Maybe Jesus cares about the students that lose their self-worth and sense of identity because they didn't get the internship they had planned on getting their entire college career.

Maybe Jesus is in all the places we aren't. Maybe He's in all the places we refuse to go. 

As I sat with the students last night at the candlelight vigil, my mind turned toward the young life that was taken last week. I couldn't help but wonder, could this have ended differently? Not just for this student, but the dozens that have taken their lives over the past years... Would this have been the ultimate escape from the pain and torment and loneliness they experienced, or does the Gospel actually provide another way? Does the Gospel truly bring life before death? Does Jesus and His Kingdom witnesses provide a friend for the friendless, love for the lonely, dignity for the unworthy, purpose for the searching, answers for the longing? Does the Kingdom-community of love and belonging actually have the power to save lives?

With tears streaming down my face, I realized that maybe God didn't just call us to Tech to gather a few students to study the Bible. Maybe He called us to Tech because he sees the lonely, the lost, the overworked, the depressed... He longs to answer their cries. Perhaps God doesn't just care about the Christian students... He cares about every corner of the campus, every student - every professor, every dorm room, every class room... Maybe God longs for Georgia Tech to reflect His Kingdom where there are no tears, there is no hunger or thirst, no loneliness... Maybe God wants Georgia Tech to be a place filled with abounding joy, satisfaction and belonging and a place... Perhaps He doesn't want students to end their lives - maybe He longs to give them life... life abundant. Maybe this isn't a far fetched dream... maybe this could be a reality. 

We always talk about how we should be the 'hands and feet' of Christ in the world. But do we actually realize that maybe we really should? Have we ever considered what this could mean if we actually used our hands and feet to administer love and grace instead of judgement? Has it crossed our minds that maybe the love of God that He longs to show these students was intended to pass through us? That we have the power to love our campuses supernaturally? That perhaps, in the moment when students need it most... in the lonely, dark moments when they consider ending it all... we could be the hands that grip them, pull them in, embrace them and whisper: "You are not alone. I am here, and you are so beloved. You are so wanted. There is another way."

A Community of Belonging 

Am I saying all these suicides could have been prevented? I don't know the answer to that... but I do know that on a campus like Georgia Tech, it isn't enough for Christians to stay behind the safety and warmth of four walls. It isn't enough for me to throw together a few Bible studies a semester and call it a day. I really believe that we are called to so much more. I really believe God has called me to this campus because He longs to bring His Kingdom here. He longs to bring His Shalom, His peace... His friendship. I really believe He alone holds the power to renew this campus, and He has invited His followers, His students to go to every dorm room, every class room, every lab... to every corner of this campus... to be His hands and feet- to administer His love and kindness, His purpose and acceptance. If we will not go, who will? If we will not notice the lonely, who will? If we will not befriend the friendless, who will?

Could the story had ended differently if these desperate students were relentlessly pursued by a group of students that had one intention: to love and invite them into something more? Into something real? Into a place where they belong?

And so I wiped the tears away, repenting for the ways I have minimized the call God has asked of InterVarsity at Georgia Tech. For the ways that we have failed to realize how important it is that we give our lives to this - that in some ways it may be life or death for some of these students. And I begged the Lord, send me. And help me send students. Give me eyes to see the places where you are, Lord. Give me hands to bring your healing touch. Give me feet to go where no one else will go.

Change me, God! Change this campus! Bring your Kingdom here! Use InterVarsity at Georgia Tech to bring heaven to earth!