Eucharisteo in July

If you haven’t read Ann Voskamp’s 1000 Gifts, I highly recommend it.  She talks about the Greek word “eucharisteo.”  It means “to be grateful, feel thankful, give thanks.”  She takes the time to list 1,000 things (some little, some big) that she is thankful for as she lives her daily life and lives with a perspective of “giving thanks in all circumstances.”  Whenever I am tempted to complain in a situation, I know that the Spirit is leading me when my thoughts are guided by eucharisteo.  One of the girls from the Harding research team this month led our ladies‘ day in this thought.  Not knowing exactly what I would write for this month’s article, I decided to share some of my eucharisteo moments.

1. Enjoying making mini-apple pies for Cafe Connection

2. Our 2013 interns

3. The Harding group helping with one-on-one reading in the library

4. Bill and Holly (our team mentors) coming to Arequipa
 
5. Attending the inauguration for Mujeres del Misti (a small community development project that CUDA is launching) and seeing two of the kids that attend the school where I work in the library

6. The eldest male teacher in the library program excitedly pulling me into his classroom to show me his word wall (the project he had to complete to receive his full credit for this month’s staff development hours).  He stood with his students proudly showing me the wall and having them spout out the answers to different vocabulary words.

7. Mentoring our very first CUDA Living Library intern, Lisette

8. Hearing from Areli, who I have helped to disciple since her baptism earlier this year, share that she has a friend who is interested in studying the story of Jesus with her.  We have been praying for this friend for two months, and it is so neat to see the prayer answered.

9. Having my first Bible study with the friend that I mentioned in last month’s newsletter and hearing her mother ask if she can join us at the table because what she is hearing is “bonito” (beautiful).
 
10. Celebrating our middle child’s 4th birthday, and knowing that Peru is the only home she has ever known.

One Way to Look at It: Holding On

One of my favorite parts of the Wilderness Trek trips we took in high school was the first day, when we went rappelling down a cliff somewhere. The guides took their time getting all the ropes fastened securely to at least two trees (you know, just in case we managed to pull one out of the ground), then wrapped through the harnesses and buckles secured to their bodies. 
 
When my turn came, I also donned a harness outfitted with hooks and buckles and locks. Another rope snaked through those loops and controlled my descent, as the only movement required to stop my fall was to pull the slack around my waist, locking the rope in the carabiner. If I wanted to leap off the cliff face and slide down quickly, I could loosen my grip and go.  If I wanted to inch my way down, carefully sliding my feet over every bump, all I had to do was grab that rope tightly and release it as minimally as I wanted.
 
But it didn’t all rely on me. Those guides were always at the top, roped into the system that was sustaining me. And while I controlled the ropes that were fixed at the top and dangled freely at the bottom, they controlled the ropes that attached directly to my harness and ran upwards, leaving the extra slack behind the guides. At any sign of trouble, they could also whip the rope around their waists, engaging the lock on their end, and I would freeze. No matter what happened with my hands at that point - even if I let go of the rope completely, I would stay put. Maybe spinning in the wind, struggled for a foothold or upside down, but held nonetheless. 
 
They could stop my fall when I couldn’t.

---

We often think of our walk with God as an actual walk down a road, where we can hold His hand as we progress. However, this breaks down for me when it comes to difficulty, because either I’m holding His hand and can’t fall, or I let go and wipe out. Either way, struggle indicates a problem because 1) if I’m holding His hand like I thought I was, I shouldn’t have fallen in the first place or 2) I have to get back to His hand because I obviously lost it, though I’m not sure how or where.
 
I prefer the rappelling image. Maybe our whole life is spent in an up and down attempt at a climb. Jesus and all His glory is at the top. Brokenness is at the bottom. For every foot of altitude we advance, it’s likely we could slip down by two. But when we lock into Jesus as our guide, we are roped in just as we used to be on Trek. We can control some of our movements. We have choices about where to put our feet, how quickly to rise or fall, how risky our path will be and how tightly we will hold to our own control. 
 
But when It comes down to it, we can’t fall where He can’t catch us. He knows the signs of real trouble that we can’t handle and He can grab the line in plenty of time to snatch us from it. We might be upside down, panicking, and unsure what to do next to find the right path, but He has us in His grip, just as always. 
 
Thinking about life in this way makes risks scary and exhilarating, because rather than seeing potential falls as moments in which I might lose my grip on His hand, I see them as moments when I might witness anew just how intent He is on holding on to me.

Coming Full Circle

We are in the final week of what has been the most action-packed Arequipa internship yet, and it was a long time in coming.  The story, as I must tell it from my perspective, started thirteen years ago.  
 
I came to preregistration at Harding University in the summer of 2000 intent on a degree in missions.  At that time my home congregation, Shiloh Road Church of Christ, had just sent a couple to Jinja, Uganda.  My summer missions experiences with the high school youth group in Mexico had been a major part of my decision to become a missionary, as well as my decision to engage high school Spanish more aggressively than I would have done, yet my imagination abounded with visions of tribal Africa as I pulled up to Harding's campus for preregistration.  My previous tour of the missions department had already made it apparent that African missions was very influential in the program, so I was quickly forming assumptions about where I would end up in the world.
 
Incoming freshmen were assigned advisors in the Bible department based upon the first letter of our last names.  So I came to meet my advisor, Bill Richardson.  Dr. Richardson was at that time an associate professor of Bible and missions.  He had spent his years in missions in Latin America.  So his eyes lit up when he read my registration documents and realized I was a missions major who had tested out of basic Spanish.  At that first meeting, he advised me to do a number of things that set the course of my life.  First, he suggested I do a Spanish minor.  Since I was granted credit for 101 and 102, it would be that much easier.  Thus, we looked ahead at the courses I would need to take each semester.  Second, he suggested I attend the Spanish congregation in Searcy if I really wanted to progress in the language.  I ended up attending all four years; La Casita was my home church in Searcy.   He also told me about the summer mission campaign in Venezuela.  At the time, it was the only Latin American option.  I went to Venezuela the summer after my freshmen year.  Bill let me in on a secret as well: Harding was working on a new study-abroad program in Viña del Mar, Chile (HULA: Harding University in Latin America).  My junior year, I did go to the pilot HULA semester.  So did Megan Bills, who eventually became my wife.  Finally, Bill invited me to attend the Latin American interest group that he hosted in his home.  Over the course of four years, that group evolved into a mission team committed to Arequipa, Peru.  In retrospect, I can describe that meeting with Bill as nothing less than providential.  He and his wife, Holly, have remained our team's mentors and friends.  
 
Those of us in the Latin American interest group at Harding swam against the African missions current.  It's hard to describe exactly why that current was so strong.  One of the reasons for momentum among students, though, was undoubtedly the phenomenally successful African internship.  A comparable experience was lacking for Latin America, where Harding internships were essentially nonexistent and traditional "evangelistic campaigns" were the norm.  This situation (in part) compelled Bill to envision a new kind of summer experience for students interested in Latin America: a research  trip.  He began preparing a group of about ten of us to travel to various cities the summer after my sophomore year, in order to gather logistical and strategic information on large Latin American cities that needed a missionary presence.  The first trip included Trujillo and Arequipa, Peru and Cochabamba, Bolivia.  A number of the participants on that trip were part of the nascent South American team that had formed out of the Latin America interest group, and on the basis of the information gathered, we chose Arequipa as our destination and became Team Arequipa.  A couple of years later, another team used the research to chose Cochabamba.  Members of the Cuzco mission team were on a subsequent research trip.  Another group came to Arequipa with Bill after our arrival and helped us with the research that launched CUDA, and some of those researchers are now part of the second wave of Team Arequipa.  Megan and I have reflected on how wonderful it has been to witness what God has done through Bill and Holly's labor.  
 
The internship this year is the latest chapter of the story.  Perhaps the last ten years of investment have had an effect similar to the African internships.  Or perhaps the Lord is calling more students to Latin America.  Or maybe some other factors are at play.  I suspect it is all of the above.  But whatever the case, this year far more Harding students sought internships in Latin America than could be placed.  Altogether, they composed a highly-motivated, unusually Spanish-proficient group of seventeen students.  To meet this demand, Bill conceived of a "traveling internship," which was a mixture of experiences including intensive language school, mission church plants, a national church plant, developmental ministry, and research.  Two weeks were spent in Arequipa, learning about CUDA and house churches.  This group crashed our regular internship, which includes four other students: two from Harding, one from Oklahoma Christian, and one from Abilene Christian.  It was a tumultuous two weeks, but we were glad to get to know these students, some of whom will undoubtedly be back in Latin America as missionaries in the future.  Our regular interns generously accepted the disruption a group that size naturally causes and even formed some meaningful friendships.
 
I realized after the traveling interns departed that I was feeling my age for the first time: not too old to keep up but old enough to realize I needed to keep up.  Their energy was infectious, and when they left I missed it.  But their presence was also a sign of hope that I cherished.  These are students intent on serving God, many of them in Latin America.  They aggressively seek understanding and wisdom, they dream and plan, and they love the people around them in the process.  Likewise, our regular interns have taken these two months to learn what full-time mission is like week in and week out, persevering through ups and downs while learning language and culture.  These are short-term experiences meant to be long-term investments.  And that is the truly exciting thing.  I pray that God will continue calling more and more students to dream missional dreams for Latin America. 

A Solitary Place

I went to the cafe this morning to start a study of Mark with a friend.  This is a friend that was placed in my path the first few months that we lived in Arequipa.  I have prayed fervently for this friend.  I have also stopped praying from multiple disappointments and decided to place her and her situation in God’s hands.  The Spirit moves, and it is up to a person whether to accept his invitation, right?  In my walk with Christ in this foreign city, I have tried to be intentional with those that I want to invest in loving and caring for.  Yes.  God is love, and we are to love everyone around us.  But the reality is that we must choose and prioritize who will receive our time and sacrifice.  My investment is not so that I can get something from them.  I always desire to share my faith, and I hope that the other person will get to experience God’s purpose in their life, but I am not one to give up if someone seems disinterested in Jesus from the beginning.  I believe that as a Christ-follower, I am part of the body that can exemplify Christ to others.  It is my prayer that through my love and actions, someone will see Christ glorified and be open to his message.

So back to my friend.  It has been almost five years.  I went through a season of our relationship where I wanted to give it up.  I told God that if he opened the door, I would be available, but a relationship works two ways.  In the past few months, the door seemed to open.  I had several very deep, personal, and frank conversations with this friend.  And she seemed genuinely interested in studying with me in a small group that I meet with on Saturday mornings.  It also seemed to be a perfect opportunity to disciple the girls that I meet with (both are Christians) in how to start an evangelistic study with a seeker.

The Peruvians will tell you that they do not like conflict.  And because of this, many will tell you “yes” to something when they should really say “no” just to avoid conflict and disappointment.  This is frustrating to me, because it is hard to read when someone is genuinely interested.  I want to think the best of people, but I can tell you that our mission team has wasted hours upon hours of waiting for people that plan to meet with us and never show up.  Not every situation is like this, but when I get “stood up,” I always question.  This morning was the second time for me to get “stood up” with this particular friend.  And to tell you the truth, I feel like a big fat failure when that happens.

On a completely different note, I have been feeling overwhelmed with the many visitors passing through Arequipa, keeping my home in order, keeping up with relationships, and a lot of change going on with our library program.  I go through seasons of feeling this way, but it doesn’t help to be disappointed at the end of a week in the midst of this season.

My meeting with my two Peruvian Christian sisters had been postponed to later in the day, and I ended up having time to sit still and write and reflect in my prayer journal.  I also decided to read the first chapter of Mark.

I love using Mark’s version to share Jesus’ story with someone new.  But what I love even more is that I seem to fall deeper in love with Jesus and learn new things every time I go through and share the story.  And as I sat in the cafe this morning alone, I was blessed by Jesus’ example to me.  It was a part of chapter one that I have always loved reading, but I guess it hit me straight in the heart this morning.

“Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. Simon and his companions went to look for him, and when they found him, they exclaimed, ‘Everyone is looking for you!’
Jesus replied, ‘Let us go somewhere else––to the nearby villages––so I can preach there also. That is why I have come.’ So he traveled throughout Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and driving out demons.”

— Mark 1:35-39

Maybe my thoughts are jumbled, but after reading this passage, I sat back and praised God for his message.  I too often forget who is in control, and whose message I am proclaiming.  I get overwhelmed, and I self-doubt my strength and my abilities when all the while I should be relying on my God’s strength and his message.  I needed that alone time this morning.  I needed time away from children, away from interns, away from Bible studies, away from library work, away from my to-do list.  I needed that solitary place to remember the reason for why I do any of this work here.  “That is why I have come.”  But more than anything, I needed to sit still and know that he is God.  He is the one that can drive out demons, cure diseases, raise dead people to life, calm the storm.  I am so foolish to rely on my own strength, my own abilities, my own situations, my own plan.  God has a purpose, and he has a plan.  It is up to others as to whether they will follow.

With a year and a half left, I have been praying for God to bless me with one more opportunity to share the story of Mark with someone here in Arequipa.  I really thought this morning (and last Saturday morning) was an answer to that prayer.  Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.  I would ask that you would pray for these opportunities for our team.  But most of all, I would ask that whatever we do here is for the glory of our God, and that we are relying on his strength and his power.

One Way to Look at It

I'm an introvert. I really want an inner sanctum where I can essentially back into the corner, sit down and pull my knees to my chest. I don't want anyone to see or hear me there; I want my quiet hiding to remain mine alone.
 
Yes, I'm a Christian. Which means I have invited Another to dwell with me constantly. As such, my inner sanctum is actually a stage.
 
Every time I come onstage with a desire to run away, hide, vent, I am faced instead with the decision to speak or not speak. And if I speak, as the words that swirl and bubble inside me beg to be released and known, Light floods the stage. Sitting in the audience is only One, and the simple act of turning my voice to be heard invites Him to be fully there. And He is Light. There is no way to keep this little act hidden, this performance meant only for my guilty satisfaction.
 
So I must consciously choose to speak. The Light fills me, floods my face, warming me without burning, illuminating me without blinding. I am seen. Fully and completely seen.  No shadows. No secrets. Seen. I look at my body, my arms and realize that my skin is blocking none of the Light. My blood pulses through my veins with more than oxygen, carrying the effects of each day. My heart pumps not only blood, but truth and pain and my will (which seems to be constantly in the throes of death, but never quite yielding). 
 
I fear this speaking. My mind knows that my Audience sits not as critic, but as Father, Creator, Lover, Comforter. He delights in me as I am, as He created me, and is eager to receive whatever gift I offer. He died to bridge the gap between us and yet I fear crossing it. I fear being judged unworthy of the gift already given. I fear being deemed oversensitive, beyond help, too self-centered, unimportant. 
 
If I choose to trust His care and speak, my words flow from my lips and change everything. They transform and affix themselves to my very body, clothing me in my own being, made beautiful, made new, not a problem but neither the point. My deepest pains and fears become jewels that sparkle in my eyes and hands, ready to accept the pains and fears of others. My selfish demands shrivel in the air and fall to the ground as petals fall from a flower, technically useless, but releasing a lovely aroma upon being crushed. The sharp barbs of hurts inflicted by others soften and dissipate, leaving behind a tender awareness of the importance of love, patience and gentleness.
 
In the face of this Light that lives in me, everything I offer can be used for good.

One Way to Look at It: He Will Wait

I'm not sure why, but airlines (or maybe it's the airports) like to schedule international flights to arrive at about the same time. It's inevitable: Every time we travel through Lima or Miami, the immigration line contains at least three flights' worth of travelers, and the waiting areas are packed with people who appear to be settled in for a long wait, somehow lounging with a body part draped over every possible piece of luggage.

In Lima, this waiting area is the food court. The area is quite large and houses plenty of seating for half a dozen eateries the ring the dining section. It's Peru, so there is no order to the round tables and lightweight chairs that end up strewn haphazardly, first grouped to a single table with extra occupants, then shoved aside to make room for a luggage cart to skim through.

It's mayhem.

I often have to walk my young daughters through the chaos to access the bathrooms that are located farther down the hallway. I often do that parent thing where you grab a small child's hand and pull them in right behind you so that they have a clear path to follow directly in your footsteps, while you can still snatch them to either side to avoid a collision if necessary. In this scenario, I take responsibility for seeing our table and navigating the crowd and furniture to get my kids there safely. They cannot see where we are going, but they trust that I will get them there, even if I am pulling them hither and yon in the process. They know to stick with me.

It struck me as this happened yet again just recently that I am sometimes not a very good daughter. I know cognitively that God does this same thing with me, leading me where I cannot see, sometimes jostling me in order to protect me, but I struggle so very deeply with trusting. I figure that if I'm responsible for much in my life, I can just take the reins on the rest and give Him a break. After all, He has plenty of other stuff to deal with, right? I don't want to be a burden. It's one thing to just live that way and never think about it, not really.

It's another thing to realize just what I am doing, and I am saddened by how weak I want Him to be. I don't want Him to take control of my life. I don't really want Him to lead me to big, scary things. I don't really want Him to change me in ways that might hurt, might break down the things I value in myself. I don't really want to experience things that stretch me beyond the point where I can still make it all look good. I prefer to stand still in the bustling crowd and pretend that's where I really wanted to be all along, even as He stands beside me, holding out His hand to lead me toward better things, patiently waiting for me to want that, too.

My daughters have learned to trust me more than I have learned to trust God. The only reason is that I have required it. I have pulled them along with me. I have given them no choice, have not waited patiently for their cooperation. By necessity, they were forced to experience my care so that they would come to trust it. I think that's okay; it's the nature of my task in their lives.

But it makes me very different from God. And even as part of me wants to resist and stay in charge, another part of me kind of does wish He would just sweep in and force my hand. I could protest a little while I secretly rejoiced in not having to choose, not having to take responsibility for my own laziness or fear or pride. I'm sure He would develop a much better version of me than I have so far.

But He waits patiently, holding out His hand to lead me toward better things, because I have to want that, too.

And as much as my experiences as a mom have taught me more about the heart of God, in this I continue to struggle - He will wait. He loves me deeply and fully and with absolutely no demands, but He will take nothing from me that is not freely offered, so He will wait.

In the face of the rushing demands of daily life, all too often, I leave Him waiting. Other things are clamoring for my attention, but He does not, so I'll get around to Him after other things are stilled and quiet, right? That never happens. Instead, I have to continue to learn, one moment at a time, to lift my gaze to Him, purposefully choosing to seek His direction, in the middle of this whirlwind of a life.

One Way to Look at It: Making the Grade

My 8th grade algebra class hated me.  My teacher, Mrs. Marchesault, had a standard policy for grading all tests and quizzes: She set the second highest grade in the class to 100% and adjusted all grades accordingly.  As a high-achiever and someone who enjoyed algebra, I often earned one of the top grades.  “You are killing the curve!”, my classmates would complain, pushing me to answer incorrectly on purpose in order to close the gap between those of us who were doing well, and those who were struggling.  
 
They felt that my success made them look worse, and they didn’t like it. The focus wasn’t on better actual performance, just on a better grade.
 
We do that, don’t we?  We worry that the shining success of others is killing the curve.  We think that if an individual or family truly attains some measure of faithfulness or happiness, it highlights our own shortcomings in that area. There’s something that makes us feel that if nobody really knows all these answers, it’s okay that I can barely muddle through it. Then suddenly someone “gets it” and we’re back in the lower bracket, clawing for our sense of self, desperate to close the gap, even if it means damaging someone else to do it.
 
Surely you have seen this, probably online.  Someone makes sense, for themselves, of a Big Question and finds peace in how to live it out.  Suddenly there is an uproar of reactions ranging from “Just because that is true for you doesn’t mean it’s true for everyone else” and “Don’t presume to tell others how to live their lives” to “You thought that through completely wrong and therefore your conclusions are useless” to “No one wants to hear what you have to say anyway so keep it to yourself”.  It can get ugly, and fast.
 
It makes me sad. We are terrified of having our struggles made obvious and of proving to be less capable and polished than we are desperately trying to appear. In our panic, we tear down someone who is striving to get one more right answer because they know they have it in them.  We take a stance on every. single. thing. people. say so fast that we rarely stop to make sure we heard it right, or to consider if we should learn from it.  We fear that if they show God more faithfulness than we can muster right now, that God might suddenly realize how weak our faith truly is and all our efforts to keep Him dazzled by our performance will fail.
 
Oh, yeah, except they already have.
 
Want to know what I think the answer is? 
 
Stop caring about what other people think (which is what we really stress about when this whole comparison game starts blowing up).  Embrace the truth about yourself and then it won’t matter if anyone else strays from (or nails) an ideal formula, since you’ve already ditched it as a possibility.  
 
For example, here’s some truth about me:
I’m great at algebra and epically terrible with history. When asked who was President during the Civil War, I guessed Jefferson. No, I am not kidding. My brain just will not keep relevant pieces of historical information linked. It’s nuts.  But I can name characters in books that I read when I was a child. I’m weird like that. I keep my head on straight during a crisis, but you better do what I say because I start barking orders like nobody’s business. But throw me in the thick of clingy baby + 6 yo asking unending questions + 3 yo crying about glue on her fingers from homework and at best I’ll have clenched teeth and deep breathing; at worst I’ll be bellowing that everyone better calm down and get it together...you know, to make it easier for me to calm down and get it together.  Yeah, regular life is what gets to me. Oh, and I’m particularly organized and make lists and schedules, but send me into the store without my plan (even if I have spent hours looking over it) and my brain grinds to a halt.  I could have planned to cook hamburgers for lunch that same day and I’ll walk out the door without buns, only to realize it at the exact moment when I’m too far gone to turn around and go back.  And believe it or not, being a missionary doesn't magically make me all spiritual and shiny. I still go through a whole day without cracking open my Bible, and if I do take a moment to pause and attempt a focused prayer, it's likely that my brain will somehow end up strategizing how to most efficiently accomplish my tasks for the day…even though my three small children will inevitably derail any ideal plan I might concoct.
 
I don’t need anyone else to show me how I fall short.  I know that full well. I don’t need any reminders that I am in imperfect person in a broken world who is slogging through it all under the weight of daily life. What I need is a pat on the back and a reminder to keep pursuing Jesus through my flaws.
 
What we need is to live in grace, first recognizing it from God, then granting it to each other.  It is no longer about earning the best grade; none of us can anyway, so competition is pointless. God accepts imperfect attempts; let's be glad of that, for ourselves and each other.

One Way to Look at It: Light vs. Fire

If you ask a Christian what their responsibility is toward the world, many would use the image of light.  Thanks to the popular children’s song, we all know we need to let it shine and not hide it under a bushel or let the devil blow it out.  Jesus used this idea to clarify for his followers their purpose, which is the same for us now.  
 
Be a light.
 
What does that mean?  Well, what does light do?  It touches everything nearby, showing the truth of what it is.  Only in darkness can anything hide; light defines and causes nothing...it serves to illuminate the existing reality.  
 
The problem is when we attribute tasks to ourselves that have nothing to do with that task.  What does light not do?  It doesn’t cause change.  It doesn’t purify.  It doesn’t harm or benefit whatever it shines on, besides the natural consequence of being shown.  
 
Fire does that. Fire changes whatever it touches. Fire purifies. It does cause harm or benefit, depending on the substance. Light is the result of fire, not the other way around.  
 
God presents his power through fire throughout the Bible, as He led the Israelites through the wilderness as a pillar of flame.  The Bible describes God as a consuming fire when the Israelites are about to enter the Promised Land. His power over Baal is shown by the sheer force of the fire that He sent down to Elijah’s soaked altar after Baal failed to show up.  The Psalms use imagery of purification by fire.  Shadrach, Meshac and Abednego are unharmed by an extremely hot fire thanks to a holy presence.  
 
Being fire is God’s sphere.  Being light is ours, and even in that, we do best when we remember that we reflect Jesus and have nothing to show without Him. 
 
And yet it is easy to spend our effort and attention on trying to do God’s job.  I get it.  It’s natural that we would want things to be better, more in line with His kingdom. But He gave us our part to play and we would do well to trust Him with the rest.

“Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of Him who is the head, that is, Christ.”

— Paul, Ephesians 4:15

Coming to Faith

This morning I finished reading the book of Mark with a dear friend that is in a journey of seeking. I cannot explain how exciting I find it to share the end of Mark's story with others. After reading the section of Jesus on the cross and his final words, I always turn the reader to Psalm 22 where Jesus is quoting, “My God, my God, Why have you forsaken me.” If you haven't read the Psalm in its entirety, take the time to read it. The final two verses always give me chill bumps in the context of sharing Jesus's story with someone:

“Posterity will serve him; future generations will be told about the Lord, and proclaim his deliverance to a people yet unborn, saying that he has done it.”

— Psalm 22:30-31 (NRSV)

He has done it! Booyah (pardon my English expression from the nineties). There is a fire in my bones when I truly understand what it being communicated in those words.
 
We imagine hearing God's voice of authority at the baptism of Jesus. We read through the life of Jesus and imagine what it would be like to be a disciple following after this soon-to-be-King. We are in awe of Jesus's power over demons, sickness, nature, and death. We shake our heads as the disciples fail to get it time after time. We question what type of soil we are as we read through Jesus' parables. We internalize the message for ourselves as the man exclaims to Jesus, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” We sympathize with the followers as their leader is led away like a lamb to be slaughtered. We mourn with those women at the foot of the cross after they have witnessed a horrific death to a man of humility, compassion, and honor. We discuss the freedom we have in Christ and the barriers that have been removed when the curtain is split in two. We are in awe that the centurion, a Roman Gentile, is the first to confess Jesus' name after he breathes his last, but then we rejoice with the women that proclaim the news of the resurrection. We cling to hope that he does what has been promised since the days of old. For he has done it!
 
I explain to my friend that I want her to make a commitment to God. But I don't want her to commit from pressure she feels from me. I want her to feel the pressure from the Holy Spirit. It is her decision, and it is not a decision to take lightly. Taking up your cross to follow is not a walk in the park. We discuss making covenant with God in front of the family of God, and through the act of baptism that is such a powerful symbol of dying to self but being raised in Christ. We discuss the Holy Spirt and the meaning of circumcision of the heart. We mention “the kingdom of God” being here and now and not yet. I share why the phrase “freedom in Christ” is so special to Christians. She tells me she is so close to making this decision. She tells me she needs to read and reflect. We pray; we hug; we plan our next time together.
 
Coming to faith is the work of the Spirit. The Spirit transforms us. But he only is able to do his work completely when we are seeking. My friend is seeking. It is my prayer that I call her sister very soon, and then I will rejoice. For he has done it!

One Way to Look at It: Prayer

From where I stand at the kitchen sink, I can see into the laundry room through a window.  It is a clear view to where we have set up a small table for arts and crafts for the kids.  They color, cut, and draw to their hearts’ content.  I can see their work and hear their conversation.  I basically know what they’re up to anytime they are in there while I work in the kitchen, even without them telling me about it.  
 
I have heard criticism of the practice of of listing out prayer requests to then pray about, likening it to a family conversation around the dinner table, where the children discuss amongst themselves what they will say to their parents, then turn to deliver the information to them, even though the parents were present through the entire conversation already.  There is no need in this situation to delineate which part of the discussion was intended for them; they got the whole thing.  So why discuss prayer requests and follow it with a prayer that repeats it all?  Can God not hear the entire time? 
 
I have heard the opposite, that any discussion of prayer needs and life struggles deserves the blessing of purposeful prayer, to distinguish the need and response beyond a basic conversation between two people. In this instance, it is not about being necessary, but about lifting the conversation to a different plane, not for the purposes of informing, but of offering.
 
But there’s something else that is easily forgotten.  It is not just about what we say or how we say it, or if we frame it with a beginning and end or not, or if we use formal language or not.  It is about to Whom we talk.
 
I watch my kids do their projects and create their masterpieces.  I neither need information from them, nor do I need them to demonstrate the importance of their efforts.  However, I love that they value me enough to want to show me.  At my simple request to tell me about it, they are off and running, describing their choice of form, color, image, material, folding, staple placement...they love telling me, and I love hearing it.  It’s neither necessary nor merely holy.  It’s relationship.  I show them how I value their contribution by listening, and they show me how they value my knowledge of them by opening up and sharing.  Whatever they have done is made more real by our sharing of it.
 
And God is our Father.  Prayer should not be limited to informing Him of our troubles and our suggested solutions to them, with the caveat that He choose otherwise if He sees fit.  Nor should it be limited to a verbal sprinkling of holy water to deem a life experience officially handed over.  These two approaches focus too narrowly on what exactly we do and how we do it.
 
Remembering why we do it can make a huge difference.  
 
It’s about conversation with Someone close to us, eager to hear what we have to say, uninterested in eloquence or efforts to impress. Just talk to Him, discuss life, questions, frustrations, exciting experiences...everything.  Will you choose to include your desires and requests?  Sure.  Will you hand over your daily life as an offering as you share it?  Absolutely.  Those are good parts of prayer.  Just remember that He wants to hear about what you are drawing and what it means to you, too.  And as a good conversation with a close friend can result in us gaining clearer insight and understanding into our own experiences, so can a good, personal conversation with God help focus our vision and align our hearts more with His.