Rebirthing

Have you ever had to read something five times before you finally understood what it meant? Such was my experience today, but this may have been the fiftieth time I read it. Today, the most familiar reading spurted truth like a ruptured artery. If words on a page have the potential to come alive, they were rebirthed this morning. It was a boy, he was delivered in the sixth chapter in the book I’m reading entitled Romans. Though ink splatters were minimal, the impact of this rebirthing is incomparable. May you find the joy of rebirth that I found this morning.

Romans chapter six (verses 1 through 14) are entitled “Dead to Sin, Alive in Christ.” This selection has been read before; select verses are supported by rafters designed by a ballpoint pen. A brisk bracket surrounds 11-13, identifying the segment with one word, “Flatline.”

Have you ever found yourself in a spiritual rut? Your heart longs to escape the muck you rest in, but your legs are too weak to function. I have found myself in too many ruts; I could write a book about them. You’re not alone in your rut dwelling, but don’t take that as permission to wallow with the new found company. Rather, open your eyes and see what has happened. I don’t wish to place my circumstances on you, but whenever I’m in a spiritual rut, it involves some assortment of sin 100% of the time. If you have done a 180 and identified yourself with Christ, do you realize what has happened?

A 180 is what’s happened. To be a Christian is not to regurgitate a specified salvation prayer. To be a Christian isn’t to sit in a pew. To be a Christian isn’t to quote facts about the Bible. To be a Christian is neither to go to a Christian school, listen to Christian radio, nor donate to Christian causes. To be a Christian is to have found a new life. Not only to have found a new life, but to have abandoned an old life. To a be a Christian is to have a new slate, new vision, new goals and new life, based upon the reality of what our Perfect Creator did for us.

Nothing about your life before you met Jesus is worth dwelling upon. This is where I trip up. You may have done a load of great things before a Holy God changed you, but those don’t tend to be the things we think about in our past, are they? When I think about the past, I think about the wrongs, the evils, the deathly deeds my mind was obsessed with. How much of your time is spent recollecting the past without an Omniscient Leader? How much of your time is spent dreaming of the present and future with a Mind Blowing God? Could recollecting the past be detrimental? Possibly. Could dwelling on the past be demonstratively destructive? Yes. Set your mind on things above, not on earthly things (Colossians 3:2). Don’t fix your eyes on what’s seen, but on what’s unseen (2 Corinthians 1:18). Fix your eyes on Jesus, the Author and Perfector of our faith (Hebrews 12:2).

In Romans chapter six, Paul says that when we sin God’s grace will extend out to us, but we’re not to abuse grace that by continuously sinning merely because forgiveness exists. Grace isn’t your permission slip to sin. You cannot forget that when you found this new life, your old life died; assassinated, slaughtered, slain, massacred, just as Jesus was murdered on the cross. Our old self was buried. It turns out we have a unifying experience with Jesus when we die to sin. Just as Jesus was resurrected from the dead, we too were given new life from death! Verse 6 says, “We know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves to fin- because anyone who has died has been freed from sin.”

Because of what Jesus did, if you die to your old self and accept his purposeful life, you are free, you are new, you have life. There is no use in hindsight. Yes, it’s important that we learn from our mistakes, but do realize, as I did today, that your old self is dead and gone. Your new life allows the Son to shine through you.

Perhaps your problem doesn’t lie in remembering the past, but making your past the present by continuing to live in the desires and actions of an old life. I may be preaching to the choir here, but what are you thinking! God the Father sent God the Son to be your perfect sacrifice so the Holy Spirit may dwell inside of and lead you through the Father, giving you a connection to the entire Trinity. What are you thinking? Don’t forfeit life for the illusion of life.

To be unified with Christ involves death to an old life. Romans 6:1-14 lays in your Bible longing to be read. The passage was rebirthed for me today, living as surely as I. The Book is living and active, may our hearts beat in tune.

Learning alongside of you,
Jaime S.

Seeking Ants, Calling Teachers

The sun shone brightly today. Bright as in the type of majestic light which calls for three pair of sunglasses, the type that comes with intense heat. Light. It was something that fascinated him. The way it shined, it’s ability to lighten or darken a hue. What was color? Color was nothing without light, for without light the color would simply be darkness. Using this reasoning what was anything? If light did not exist, neither would anything else. Mass, weight and space would remain, but the ability to view its properties would not. This is where his argument failed: if I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist. Indeed he’d just proven to himself that objects do exist in spite of sight. He had just proven that absoluteness of an object does not lie in its visibility. Mark wiped the sweat forming above his blonde brow.

The words rang as irresistible truth in his mind. Color was nothing without light, for without light, color would simply be darkness. Without light everything is darkness. Darkness, what was darkness? Black. Black was the absence of light, it was a lesson he’d learned in grade school, yet it came to life as Mark sat in his plastic lawn chair reasoning life itself. Black was darkness and black was not nearly as appealing as color, but darkness was nearly, if not more appealing than light. What’s done in the dark can’t be seen; what’s done in the light comes with the responsibility that visibility brings. Color was longed for, as was absolute clarity, but the proverbial light was something Mark avoided with his life. Not today, however, today the light or the sun at least, was fought with full force. No hat, no shades, no sunscreen, no socks, just a thin pair of Nike shorts and a cutoff covered the core sections of his body.

What was life? This was the question that drove him from a cluttered one bedroom apartment he reluctantly called home to its charming fixated balcony. Balcony was the term allocated to the cheaply erected, sorry excuse for a deck Park Rivers might as well have duct taped to the side of his living quarters. Mark was glad his thin frame only weighed 170 pounds; he wasn’t sure the deck, balcony, could hold much more weight. That’s why I never have company over, Mark assured himself, not enough strength to hold them on the deck. Mark had never seen the man who lived above him, he only knew that he was a man based on the booming voice heard from the shower at 6:30 in the morning. Mark only hoped the man with a booming voice didn’t have a booming body, or his balcony, as well as the six below, would soon become PRA history.

A driver’s view from the highway revealed Mark’s home as an eight story apartment complex with eight mini-homes on each floor, eight picture windows facing highway traffic, eight disgusting balconies piled atop each other, and a rather ancient sign enshrouded by bushes proclaiming the dominion of PRA: Park Rivers Apartments. If Mark hadn’t been so burdened by the meaning of life and sorts, he would have been lazing away in bed, concocting more appropriate anagrams for PRA. PRA, Pigs Renting Apartments, People: Run Away! Or PRA, what God was doing, if there really was a God, Probably Roasting Ants.

Beads of salty perspiration rolled down between Mark’s spine and cutoff, ending their journey with a splash, in the seat of his two dollar chair. “Ants, that’s all we are,” Mark said as if he were teaching, “Ants created by an ant killer, awaiting our turn to die.” Mark’s very acknowledgement of a creator was absurd to his core. Through grade school he hadn’t cared, through high school he formed the beginnings of an opinion and upon graduating college he’d decided. A creator makes himself known, I see no creator. But ten minutes ago he’d acknowledged the existence of a thing despite its being seen, therefore there could be a God, at least, in his instance of mocking one. “A God of mindless ants, an anteater, a pleasure seeker, thrilled by the scent of burning limbs.” How else could there be a creator of such a wretched world unless that creator was wretched in and of himself or herself. What if we were fine before this murderer appeared. Perhaps God wasn’t the origin of life, but instead the origin of death.

Invisible rays of heat were magnetically drawn to his arms. Mark could feel the close daytime star melting his skin to the chair. The sun would be setting in seven hours, he still had time to think, he could handle the heat. The sun wasn’t all that amazing. “Merely the reflections of a magnifying glass, held by a big kid in the sky. How’s it feel to wreak havoc!” he yelled towards the sky.

Death. What was death? Death was the answer to life. Life is the absence of death; death is the absence of life. “Light and dark, life and death, ants and anteaters, all interrelated in the list of pairs unexplainably existent in the rotating marble we play upon.” he reasoned. Mark wasn’t too sure why he was jabbering aloud. Perhaps it was because no one would hear him, no one. “What is life? I’m only an ant on a revolving sphere of an anthill. Ants have lived, frozen, burned, and died on this anthill; I am just another body to join the ranks. I’ll think what I want; I’ll scream what I want! This is my life, this is my choice of light and dark, my choice to turn on the lights or not, my choice to sit or stand, my choice to hide or seek!”

Wouldn’t it be nice if he made an educated choice?

“Then he said to his disciples, the harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest ,therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.” -Jesus, Matthew 9:37-38
Ever thought about being a teacher?
-Jaime S.

Static

Static, there’s nothing about that word that satisfies or soothes me; in fact, it’s quite the opposite, static repulses me to my very core. Static would be more tolerable if there were merely one type of static, but not so! Static in all of its evil intent has branched into subtypes of static, aggravating me in nearly every area of my life. For the purpose of my note, the three basic subtypes of static are static shock, static cling, and static interference.

The first type of static I was ever acquainted with was static shock. There was always that kid at school addicted to static shock and its effects. The brat would rub his feet on the carpet twenty times before lightly tapping the shoulders of each classmate. Static shock, it comes when you shake hands, it revives itself when you walk across the carpet, and it destroys lives when you kiss. Static shock, you’re an unwanted surprise, go jump in a pool.

Then there’s static cling, the menace of life which causes certain clothing to stick to the body, usually come winter time. There are two things in this life that will cause me to instantly tear up: messy tacos and the feeling of static against my face. Static cling destroys the winter shopping experience. The simple removal of an over shirt from atop my head causes hair chaos. As the neck of the blouse finally escapes my head, it’s as though half of my hair is experience life without gravity, while the other half has ditched space travel in exchange for staying glued to my face. To make it worse, static fighters have invented Static Guard. I won’t rant about Static Guard, but I’m certain the label is missing one direction: wear gas mask while spraying.

Perhaps the most irritating type of static comes while watching TV, listening to the radio or talking on the phone. Static interference ruins a communication experience. What are the options when static comes up in any of these situations? I usually change the channel, scan through stations or call my friend at a later time. Static interference starts as a whisper, a mere crack in the connection but unless you turn the antenna or walk to a better location, it’s guaranteed to only get worse.

What about spiritually? Is there spiritual static? Prayer is a simple, overly complicated-by-some term referring to a conversation between us and God. Have you ever felt static on the line while talking to God? Take a second to think about that, has it ever felt like there was a crack in the connection which began as a whisper but slowly morphed into a dropped call? Was there static in your conversation? Was the little sound so distracting that it was hard to hear what God had to say?

I’d venture to say that yes, there can be static on your communication with God. It gives me great delight to compare static with sin. Sin is a barrier, no question. Sin separated us from God before we took Jesus’ payment for our sins. God is perfect, flawless, holy, without sin, and when we’re covered in sin, our connection can’t be perfect and our relationship can’t be as close as its full potential. Sin doesn’t happen and go away; sin lingers unless it’s taken care of. I often hear people say that they feel far away from God. They feel as though God is not near them anymore or that God is ignoring them. If only they would realize God’s character to see that God hasn’t moved away from them (indeed he may be waiting, ready to run to them Luke 15), but that they’ve either walked away, changed the station when static came along or their sin is acting as a barrier in their relationship.
If there truly is static on the line, or some sort of a separation feeling, I’d almost guarantee it’s because of sin. I can tell you personally that I’ve experienced static in my conversations with the Creator of the Universe. Static cling may drive me crazy, but spiritual static drives me mad. I’ve had terrible times. I’ve felt like God was ten miles away speaking to me through a string and can; I longed for a Verizon connection, but it never came.

You know what I’ve realized, sometimes the Verizon connection was there all along, but I was ignorantly waiting for God to call me first—every time. Sometimes our connection was damaged by static, I thought it was on his side; but truthfully it was on my side, I needed to change directions in my life, run from where I was and step up into a higher room. Sometimes God was on the line and the conversation was going great, but I got distracted by the computer. Sometimes I’d be talking, I’d be talking, I’d be talking, I’d be talking about me, me, me, me so much that I didn’t even bother to listen. Sometimes my ears were plugged by subtle lies murmured from the dark, “You don’t have to talk to God; if He’s all knowing he already knows what you’re thinking.” “Don’t bother God with your problems; he doesn’t want to hear from failures. Just wait till you’ve shaped up.” “Impress people when you pray, use the right words or people are going to think you’re stupid.” “Why pray if God’s will will be done anyways?” “Does God truly want to hear you asking for forgiveness again? This is the 100th time you’ve said you’re sorry for the same sin, don’t waste your breath.” I believed the lies.

What’s the common bond in all lessons learned? The hindrance wasn’t God’s fault, it was mine. Static is ridiculously annoying, it’s a problem that has to be dealt with or it will get worse. Sin is ridiculously annoying, it does no good for anyone—ever, it’s a problem that must be dealt with or it will worsen beyond what you could have ever dreamed. If you’re feeling static in your connection with God, jump on it and figure it out! Step one is to realize that the problem lies with you. Step two is to realize where that static is coming from and where the problem lies. Figure it out immediately, for this is one relationship that should never be strained.

“The end of all things is near. Therefore be clear minded and self-controlled so that you can pray.” 1 Peter 4:7

Static hater,
Jaime S.

“What other nation is so great as to have their gods near them the way the Lord our God is near us whenever we pray to him?” –Deuteronomy 4:7

Because

\In 231 days I will be married to my knight in shining scrubs; it’s hard to believe the countdown once began at 359. The past 128 days have been filled with anticipation, and as the days roll on so do my questions: how do I fulfill the role of a wife, how do I one day raise children, how do I please God through my future role as wife and someday (not so soon) a mother?

In creating a rather intense list of inquiries I naturally look around and assess how I was raised, how my parents treat one another and how I see other God-seeking families function. The idea may sound either boring or labor intensive to some, but it’s actually been quite enjoyable for me. It’s evoked some old memories, which in turn arise to more questions and eventually a spiritual analogy.

Have you ever realized how many questions children ask? What will we say to our children when they ask why the sky is blue, why that man is wearing that shirt, why popsicles freeze, why fingers move, why the sun is so bright, or why oranges taste like oranges? Even worse, what do we say when the kids want to drive our cars, when they want to go on a date, when they want to eat a cookie right before dinner, or when they want to roll in the dirt right after we’ve washed them?

How do we answer our kids? I want to explain to them in full clarity why an orange tastes like an orange, but the only thing I can come up with is that…it just is. An orange just tastes like an orange, an orange is spelled o-r-a-n-g-e because that’s the way you spell orange. Maybe I should ask my parents why an orange tastes like an orange and steal their answer. I do however recall one answer from childhood which I dreaded hearing, a one word answer possessing such unexplainable dominance and clout: because. “Because…” because as an answer that answers nothing. The scene may have looked something like this.

As my deep coal pupils expanded, the halo above my head flickered on, “Mom, can we go to Dairy Queen?”

Almost instantly the reply came, “No.” The short answer escaped my mother’s lips before I was given the chance to justify my plea.

“What, why not?” I said as my halo dimmed with disappointment.

“Because,” she said, with all authority.

The case was over, she’d said that horrid 7 letter word: because. Normally, there was no verbal disagreement at this point; I would just sulk and think to myself. Because? Did she really just say “because” to answer the question “why?” Can she do that? If I was feeling uncharacteristically gutsy, the conversation may have continued like this,

“Because why?” I said with obvious timidity.

“Because I said so.”

That is when the conversation is officially over. This is also the point at which confusion, frustration, and disapproval crosses the face of every child. The plea in “can I…” has just been abandoned, for they know it’s going no further.

Have you ever asked God a question of “God, why did __ have to happen?” or “God, why would you allow __ to occur?” “If you love me, why didn’t you design me to be as talented as her or as smart as him?” “Why do they have more money than I?” “Why isn’t my family like theirs?” “Why can’t I be as ripped as him?” “Why doesn’t my body look like hers?” “Why am I stuck in this town?” “Why ?”

Do you ever feel like God doesn’t hear you? Or perhaps you feel like God hears, but his response is “because.” Because? Can you say that, God? “Because” isn’t what I want to hear; “because” isn’t an answer! Do you ever wonder if maybe the reason our parents told us “because” was because they wanted us to comprehend who was in control, authority, and power of the situation. Perhaps the reason they told us “because” was because they knew best and desired for us to trust in their wise judgment. It’s impossible for me to pick one of those explanations and pin it upon every parent, for I’m sure there are countless reasons a parent will say “because.” I also know that it’s impossible for me to pick one reason and state that this is why God may say “because.” But I believe the reasons listed above may be in the list of God’s reasons.

I can tell you that God is all-knowing, all-powerful and all-good. The desire of his heart is for all of his people to desire to restore their relationship with him. Humans have an odd tendency to not trust or fully rely on something they cannot see. As Christians, we will be refined as gold is refined through fire. Through the blaze, impurities are heated out. What will it take for us to finally completely trust God? We need to learn to trust God, to see that he’s in ultimate authority and perfect power with flawless motives. He sees a larger picture we cannot see. Trust him. If you feel like God is answering your conversations with “because,” he’s not trying to end them. Perhaps (if that’s what he’s really saying) he’s encouraging you to trust him.

God’s not saying “because” to ignore you, annoy you, or play games with your prayer life. Perhaps he’s saying “because” because now is not the time to hear the answer. Imagine if at 3yrs old you asked your parents how to drive and they explained 100 different traffic laws, insurance policies, as well as the mechanics of a car. For a 3yr old, such information is incomprehensible, much less retainable. Let’s only live up to what we’ve already attained. I’m convinced that complex answers come to those who are ready to hear them. What if we’re never ready to hear the answer this side of heaven? So it will be. Trust.

Because,
Jaime S

“I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord. Blessed is the man who makes the Lord his trust, who does not look to the proud, to those who turn aside to false gods. Many, O Lord, my God, are the wonders you have done. The things you planned for us no one can recount to you; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare.” –Psalms 40:1-5

Remember: Thoughts of a Sunday

The Bible is absolutely packed full of perfect parallels, a truth which compels me to admire God in his author role more and more each day. Routine to every other Sunday, this Sunday I took part in a universal gathering of Bible believers. I enjoy being taught by those trained to teach the Bible in a church body, but oh how I love those moments when I’m home alone, and the Holy Spirit teaches me. Today was such a day.

My favorite parallel in the Bible up to this point is relating the story of Abraham nearly sacrificing Isaac on Mt. Moriah to the story of the crucifixion. If you haven’t made that connection, check it out in Genesis chapter 22. If your reaction mirrors mine, it will rock your socks off. But today’s parallel comes close to beating it.

God is one sweet author. His stories are imbedded with stories within stories, while all stories are united in one book explaining the same ultimate message. I’ll never understand how he’s knit them seamlessly together; it reminds me of watching the TV show “Lost.” I watch the show in amazement as scenes in season 5 are so masterfully intertwined with episodes in season 1. How do they do it? How does God do it?

Today I stumbled across Psalms chapter 105. In efforts to fully understand what David was writing through the prompting of the ultimate Author God, I had to write it out; for that’s how I learn. (You know how you learn best; apply those same principles when understanding the Bible, see what happens.) Check it out: Psalms 105.

Seriously, read it.

Did you read that! How profound can we get here! That’s so jam packed! In the beginning David directs us to: thank God, call to Him, tell the nations what he’s done, sing to Him! Tell of what he’s done! David says this should make our hearts rejoice! Look to the Lord and his strength, always seek his face. And lastly, remember what he’s done: miracles, wonders and judgments.

My entire life, I’ve been obsessed with a three lettered question. Why? No matter what the situation, I want to know why. I’m surprised Andrew hasn’t told me to stop asking questions. So David, why should we thank, tell, praise, seek and remember? The answer is found beginning in verse 7. Why? Because he is the Lord! He is our God, and his judgments are in all the earth. He remembers his covenant, his promise forever!

Well David, what was this promise? In verse 11 God’s promise is quoted, “To you I will give the land of Canaan as the portion you will inherit.”

I’m supposed to remember God because he remembered his promise. How was this promise fulfilled? At first they wandered from nation to nation, but David makes sure to tell us that amidst their wandering God kept them safe; they weren’t oppressed or harmed by foreign kings. God then sent a messenger named Joseph. God’s messenger came to them in an unconventional way, at first as a slave; then, following God’s timing, the messenger was freed and made into a ruler.

The promise continued to be fulfilled as Israel entered Egypt. The Israelites became extremely fruitful and numerous in populations, but they were enslaved. Moses and Aaron, new messengers, sent terrible plagues on the land in order to set the Israelites free. Finally, once the worst plague came, the plague killing the firstborn of all households, God brought Israel out of slavery with all might and grandeur.

God covered, protected, led and fed them once out of captivity. He even satisfied their every thirst because he remembered his promise. God brought his people out of slavery with rejoicing. He gave them nations that they didn’t fight for, he gave them nations they didn’t deserve, he gave them nations others had toiled for, he dropped it right in their laps.

Why? Why did he do all of this? Verse 45 says, “So that they might keep his precepts and observe his laws.” God led them, freed them, and gave them what they didn’t deserve so that they might follow him, obey him, and treasure him.

Psalms 105 has a distinct message: remember. You, remember what he’s done because He remembers his promise, his promise of a land undeserved, a promise fulfilled through years of slavery. Remember because he fulfilled his promise! This exercise of remembrance displays one of the millions of God’s fine attributes. God is faithful, what he says he will do. The things he promises will be fulfilled in the fashion he determines best. For the Israelites, he fulfilled his promise even through the trenches. His people were slaves!

Do you see it yet? The Israelites story is our story! We were enslaved, the firstborn was sacrificed, and we were majestically undeservingly set free. He has made us heirs to a land we’ve done nothing to deserve, an eternal land others are toiling for. And he’s done all this so that we might follow him and his way of life. I believe a true signs of spiritual maturity begin with striving to be more like our maker, why in the world should we remember? Remember because he remembers.

Remember because he remembers, follow the lead of a genius, tell the nations.

-Jaime S., a follower of Jesus Christ (carpenter by earthly vocation, Savior by definition), set free from a life of slavery, heir to an undeserved glorious eternal kingdom, and loving it.

Transitional Stages: Calling all Wives

I welcome you to day 243; in 243 days I will be one of you. I will enter inter to the sisterhood of the mysterious network dubbed wifehood. I’ve heard of your gatherings, you exchange recipes, cutesy “my-child-did-this!” tales, and beyond that I’m really not sure what goes on, but you seem to have a good time! My suspicion is that it’s because you’re with people just like you, it’s because of your bond.

I’m asking a lot of you today, wives, I want you to sit back, relax and imagine what it was like to be un-married, a bride to be, engaged, like me. I see that smile slide across your face, it was fun wasn’t it, all that planning, hoping, dreaming and uncertainty of the future! Perhaps you longed for the same thing I do.

Wives, you have something that I don’t have; you have something I want. Yes, a husband, but beyond that you have insight, hindsight, a pile of wisdom I’d love to delve into. Will you adopt an anxious, curious wife-to-be? Will you share all your secrets? After all, in 243 days I will be one of you.

Dear wives, I am in such a frightfully uncertain transitional stage. I am completely and wholly stoked to marry this wonderful hunk of a gentleman God has put in my life. In viewing my life as pages in a novel, I’m trying to wrap up the transitional sentence of one chapter while trying to begin the plot for another. I’m a writer, I adore writing but even this scares me a little bit. In my stories I can concoct countless imaginative scenes; in my life I can dream up an innumerable set of goals and what-if’s. The vital difference is that when actions are on paper they can be erased; in real life choices have a much larger weight of responsibility.

Don’t worry; I’m not trying to get rid of Andrew. I just want to know, wives, how do you end the previous chapter? You have experience I don’t have. I’m realistic enough to know that my life will change semi-drastically when I get married. The myriad of friends I once had time for will have a little less Jaime available to them; I will be busier with a different set of priorities. I don’t expect to fall off the face of the earth, obsessed with my husband, but I do know that my time will be spent in different places. How do you accomplish this without being the offender of the year?

I’m so excited to be one of you; you have no idea. Truth be told, I’m more excited to be Andrew’s wife than I am to be in the wife network. I’ve set a goal for myself: I want to be a Proverbs 31 wife. Doesn’t that wife just rock? Check it out, if Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, calls the described woman “to be praised,” and if every word in the Bible is God-breathed, and Solomon’s book is in the Bible with that phrase, it’s something I will cling to and mimic like my life depended on it. Wives, what other sections from the Bible have you learned from and applied to being the wife God calls you to be?

This concludes day 243’s inquiries, my first cry out to the wives. There will inevitably be many, many, many more.

I can’t thank you enough if you choose to temporarily adopt me,
Jaime S.

Ps. When you respond, will you please include your age on your wedding day, how long you’ve been married, and take a few sentences to praise your husband. The husband in Proverbs 31 praises his wife, why shouldn’t we praise our husbands? Spread good rumors?

“Get wisdom, get understanding; do not forget my words or swerve from them. Do not forsake wisdom and she will protect you; lover her and she will watch over you. Wisdom is supreme; therefore get wisdom. Though is cost all you have, get understanding.” –Proverbs 4:5-7

Do You See What I See? May We See as He Sees.

“Greater is he that is in you than he that is in the world.”-1John 4:4

“Try on these,” Tom said with a cheesy smile, handing me yet another pair of glasses. “How do they feel?” he asked.

“They feel fine…” I mumbled. For 18 years I’d come here; for 18 years Tom attempted to correct my vision. I often wondered if he really was an optometrist, or merely a slick salesman. He’d shown no signs of intelligence regarding the correct function of human eyesight. It was as though this man had no idea what he was talking about; yet he cleverly sold me a new set of lenses each time. The sign across the window read “Tom: Solo Optometrist for over 4,000 years.” I kept coming back; he was the only optometrist I’d ever found in our world, but I didn’t believe the man was wise in the least bit.

“Oh yes, they’re definitely you,” Tom said enthusiastically. What a salesman, I thought, always asking how they feel, never what I see. Truth be told, I couldn’t see a thing, my vision was blurred in the left and tinted blue in the right, but the frames looked becoming; Tom told me it’s what’s on the outside that counts.

I looked in the mirror. “I look disgusting!” I gasped, turning to the side “I need to lose at least 30 pounds!”

“It’s not my fault you’re cursed with an overweight body and ungodly ugly facial features.” It was these unsightly jabs by Tom that beat my confidence and ripped apart my innards. When I saw myself with the vision he placed in front of my eyes I was a clump of dirt, un-useful for anything and hated by all. It’d always been that way. His lenses were the cause of intense migraines, plummeting self esteem, and no desire to live. For 18 years I’d returned to Tom’s cesspit of horrid vision, each visit longing for something more, longing to see a different picture through my frames.

“I’m sick of this! I can’t see a thing, Tom! You offer me lenses? You offer me soot in my eyes is what you offer me. I can’t see a thing! I was born with terrible vision; I couldn’t see a thing. You promised me vision with no bounds, a life of thrills! Do I look happy; do I look pleasured beyond belief? You lied. For years I’ve come to see you, for years your senseless solutions provide nothing but problems. You give me new lenses, I look in the mirror; I’m too fat. You give me free prescriptions, I look at the TV; the world’s too dark to live in. You give me more lenses, I stare at my family; I don’t see love. Your lenses don’t work, Tom! I want more! I want something new! I want to see life with clarity, with truth, with joy, how it was meant to be seen!”
Hearing my screams of frustration, a large man entered from the corner door. Tom squirmed in his seat. I’d never seen a soul in this pit besides Tom; truthfully, I thought Tom was the owner, but the man’s nametag proved otherwise. The pin neatly positioned above his suit pocket read “Yaweh, Owner.”

There’s no way, I thought to myself, all this time there was a higher power to run to for vision? “Are you the owner of this place?” my voice shook with anticipation.

“Yaweh, I AM” the strong voice replied.

“I can’t see. I want more than what this mediocre salesman throws my way; his vision doesn’t work.”

“Try these on,” the owner approached me with assurance. I squinted; I could see the structure he held. I was drawn to them instantly; the frames were wooden, stained red. The owner moved closer with a smile on his face… “At last, darling, at last.” As the nosepiece rested upon my worn nose, I opened my eyes. The sight was horrific; I collapsed on the hardwood floor. I didn’t want to open my eyes; what I saw in that glimpse was horrendous.

Tom, my vision coach for 18 years was less of a man and more of a beast. His face dripped with beauty, but his hands were covered in blood; they were quick to kill and ready to fight. The body which once bore a slick suit was now covered by a ragged pair of torn shorts. Tom’s calves were strong, his feet covered in dirt from all nations, he’d traveled many places. A to-do list was written across his right forearm: steal, kill, destroy, deceive, mock, distort, scare, tempt, corrupt, spread. The list of ungodly offenses continued across his sweat covered chest: separate, trap, plunder, burn, cut, steal, shatter. Upon his left forearm began another list: Darfur, Niger, Iraq, France, America, Norway, Peru, Japan, India. The list wrapped around his biceps and travelled from the top of his shoulders to the base of his back. Tom wasn’t who I thought he was. He knew nothing of vision; he knew only of misrepresentation, deformity and disfigurement. He was ruthless, his tongue released lies, and his hands offered nothing profitable.

The service table once covered in choice frames was now plastered with weaponry. A closer look at the lenses I once saw the world through revealed a disgusting selection of opaque optics. Nothing my consultant had to offer was worth anything. The lenses were cheap and distorted! They were all cracked, marred, tinted or painted! It was the concave illusion that led me to believe I was large and worthless. He deceived me. I looked into the mirror with my new lenses, with the vision the owner had given me, the same clear vision he had. I was beautiful, I was useful, I had a sense of purpose! The cracked lenses I’d worn for so long has distorted my view of reality. Though I hadn’t seen it before, there was a world outside of my own. The owner of this establishment heard my cry. The world was now crisp, somewhat scary, yet truthful. I’d never seen things so clearly. With new vision I looked to the owner; I saw a Lamb, a Lion, a Father, a King, an Artist, a Servant, a Ruler, a Comforter, a Lover, an Engineer, a Judge, a Friend, and a Counselor. I saw God.

“What, what do I do?” I said with tears in my eyes, oblivious to a proper response.

“You tell them what you’ve seen,” he said with a grin, “You tell them what I’ve shown you.”

*
“Be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.” Ephesians 6:10-13

I’m convinced that Satan hates you, and would love nothing more than to distort your view of yourself, the world, and your God. We were born into this world with imperfect vision, so run to the God who makes all things new, the God who sees all things clearly. I once heard that Satan doesn’t bother those who aren’t in his way. Why would Satan get in your business if you weren’t a threat? Oh, to be a threat! To be a threat is what we live for! I am personally sick of him. I’ve dealt with his whispers, I’ve seen his destruction, and I’ve witnessed his plots of fear. I’ve also witnessed weak-willed Christians who don’t know what to do when they’re attacked.

May I introduce to you the God of the Universe, the God of the Israelites. See things as God sees things, not as Satan would have you see them. When you’re on God’s side and you’re attacked, there is no time for fear. When you’re in battle, your immediate posture should be to stand with feet planted firm and an ear towards your Commander. When you’re attacked, you fight back; you do not cower in fear, you do not shake in your boots, you draw your sword and sling your stones. You may be the only person in the room but you are not alone. You may feel weak, but you have been provided with perfect selection of protection by the Creator of All Things. He has handed you the helmet of salvation, the sword of the Spirit, the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shield of faith. Our armor is listed in Ephesians 6:10-20, to be unprepared is our fault, God’s given us the supplies to stand firm.

I used to be a very scared person, I was aware of spiritual warfare and it freaked the living daylights out of me. This summer in Kosova I learned something; God wins, he’s more powerful, he’s my Dad, he’s got my back, he’s always watched over me and he’s not going to stop any time soon. I learned that in order to accomplish what God has for us to accomplish, we must see as God sees. We have no reason to fear. Do not fear those who can harm your body but can’t touch your soul. I also long to tell you with a loving heart that Satan is real, he thrives upon temptation; don’t play into the trap of fear. Perfect love drives out fear, but you’re never exempt from the mission of a corrupt spirit.
I don’t long for their attention, but wisdom has shown me that to walk side by side with Jesus is to be trailed by an army of opposition. I look around and I see a group of people buzzing with spiritual excitement. God is working and he’s working with all his muscle. But open your eyes, see the truth, view the world as God sees it; the Kingdom is thriving, but the rejected angel, Satan, is working too.

If you’ve been given the vision and provided with protection, what have you done with it?

Crisp-eyed and armed with truth,
-Jaime S.

Keep Going:
What is the armor of God? How can you wear the belt of truth, or the breastplate of righteousness?
Does Satan see you as competition, or a crippled opponent worthy of laughter?
What lenses do you see the world through?

We’ve Mythed Something

I’d come so far to reach this place; I heard that in this building was the secret to life, life to the fullest, life with a meaning, life with a purpose. I came with baggage, a purse, backpack, and five large suitcases, each attached by a rope to the back of my worn belt. I’d heard that it was here I’d receive a new belt, a belt of truth. Not that I had any idea what that was, but truth sounded good; I’d bathed in lies my entire life.  Perhaps it was those baths which lacquered the layers of filth I’d accumulated over my entire body.  My skin, once a tan hue, now bore hues of red, black, and blue. It itched constantly; scratching brought immediate pleasure dampened by the stinging ooze that followed. In instant flip to my forearms revealed 12 inches of self-inflicted scars. My knees were wobbling from the journey; I needed rest. I was a mess.

As I staggered toward the building, a horrific being ran out of the double doors. The feet of this being were running madly, but the hips didn’t want to follow; they used their weighty thrust to jolt the body to the left, right, backwards, then left again. A loud voice protruded from its mouth, “Unclean, unclean!” “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for your rod and your staff will comfort me!” Its arms were in utter confusion, the right was raised to the sky, signing some sort of language, the left would smack the right, then return to his protective barrier of the closed right armpit. The right hand would rise again and the vicious cycle would ensue.

I stood in shock as the battle within this being continued. The hips grew weary and the body ran towards me. As the being came closer it pierced me with its eyes; the iris swirled with color, the gaze screamed love. It was loving me with its eyes, I wanted to melt right there with a posture of surrender and a plea for life.  But the noise was interrupting my plan.

No part of this body matched up.  The eyes were still loving me, as my own welled up.  Yet the mouth screamed in a shrill tone “You don’t deserve to be here! Clean yourself off before you enter our presence! You’re dirty and stained, let us wash you & cleanse your appearance. On second thought, go home, clean up and come back next week.”

The right hand signed, “Psalms 103, Praise the Lord, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits- who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s. The Lord works righteousness and justice for all the oppressed…”

The left had slapped the right and reached backwards to grab a garden hose. The burst of water struck my face and traveled down my body. The left hand wiggled the stream in anger, for none of my filth would come off.

The right hand quickly reached horizontally away from the body and signed, “Titus 3:5, He saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy.  He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit.”

“Can I be saved?!” I cried out.

The head nodded yes as the eyes gleamed in excitement. Quickly the mouth said, “NO!” The right hand extended to cusp mine; the left grabbed the wrist of the right to paralyze mobility. The feet made steady steps towards me; the hips regained their strength and threw the body backwards. The fall came with a massive thump to the cement, causing a stream of cracks to stem from the broken being.  The body jolted continuously, expelling fluids and ripping at the joints.  An hour later, the being was motionless. I viewed the stationary body plastered against the cement, each part exhausted, and paralyzed by its lack of sync.

They called this “The body of Christ,” but it wasn’t a body at all. The body died, and there I stood, needy, longing for truth.

=====
Discord within the body of Christ doesn’t work. When two parts of the body move one direction while the rest moves another, it lacks unity.  In fact, it displays no unity.  The body becomes a freak show of individual parts attempting to lead something they weren’t intended to lead, screaming words they were never intended to utter, carrying out actions that were never intended to be.  When the body doesn’t comply to the head, the body falls apart. It corrodes from the inside out and rots in front of a world who’s being told that this body has found the purpose to a meaningful life.

It’s asinine! It’s this display of sinful separation from the head of the body (God) that causes an abundance of myths in our societies about the body of Christ.

It’s this lack of unity that leads into the myth of: I have to straighten up my life before I go to church. It’s this dysfunctional body that screams the myth: the church is a place of imperfect people who think they’re perfect, and look down upon me for not joining (which has become less of a myth and more of a reality in some churches). It’s the church not following the head’s attitudes concerning people and money which creates the myth: the church only cares about the numbers, how many people they can grab & how much money they will get out of them. Or the myth of: God will only accept me once I’ve cleaned up my life; if the church doesn’t like me dirty, neither will its God.

It’s impossible to find a perfect church; I was once told if you’ve found the perfect church, don’t join it, you’ll ruin it. The truth is that on earth there is no perfect church of perfect people; we’re born into this world as an imperfect people headed towards an imperfect life.

We cannot wow this world with our personal list of good deeds because the world doesn’t care.  The world’s seen people attempt perfection; they’ve seen that it fails.  There’s no sense in expending all efforts to maintain a flawless life in order to win others to Christ because the goal is unachievable; we can never be perfect. What we can wow this world with is our unity; unity is possible.

It was he [God] who gave some to be apostles, some to be prophets, some to be evangelists, and some to be pastors and teachers, to prepare God’s people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Sons of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.  Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of men in their deceitful scheming.  Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will in all things grow up into him who is the Head, that is, Christ.  From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work. –Ephesians 4:11-16

Unity will “wow” because the world has seen people attempt to achieve unity; they’ve also seen divorces, corrupt companies, and failed promises. The world cannot achieve unity; with God as our head, we can.  They will know we are Christians by our love, they will know we’ve found a purpose worth living for when they see unexplainable God-driven unity.

The verses in Ephesians go on to say: stop living like you used to live, put off your old desires and adopt a new attitude, imitate God and live a life of love, live wisely, understand your God’s will, thank God for everything and submit to each other out of reverence for Christ. There is a process to unity, merely joining a congregation or volunteering for a ministry doesn’t grant instant unity.  Unity is achieved through a process, when all members are doing their part, working together under the leadership of Christ, headed towards the same goals, living with the same purpose.

Unity provokes (among other things) selfless, loving, immediate action; that is how we will “wow” them. We will wow them with our togetherness and tell them about the leader of our movement; the leader who wisely designed his team with a perfect thought in mind, unity.

“My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you.  May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me.  I have given them to the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one: I in them and you in me.  May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you send me and have loved them even as you have loved me.  Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world.  Righteous Father, though the world doesn’t know you, I know you, and they have known that you have sent me.  I have made you known to them, and will continue to make you known in order that the love you have for me may be in them and that I myself may be in them.” –John 17:20-26 that reeks unity.

We must unify, or we will crumble, and the world will still be longing for something more.

Put off the old you, cusp the hand of your leader, run towards the new life.
Jaime S.

Reliving History, Kosova Style

When I arrived at Pristina, Kosova in July 2008, I had no concept of the land I had just set foot on. For months, my team and I had been preparing our intercultural, packing, teaching and evangelizing skills, yet as I walked out of the airport, breathing in my first waft of Kosova air, I felt absolutely unprepared. We’re here, I thought to myself, We’re half way around the world! The unprepared feeling sank in when we packed 15 people into two “12” passenger vans with about 45 suitcases, backpacks and totes (avg three pieces of luggage per person).

I am an outdoors girl; I’ve done my fair share of camping, hiking and “roughing it out.” I can play Boy Scout with the rest of them, but I’ve never trekked to my campground in a sardine laden European Volkswagen passenger van through the disturbing ruins of war. That is what I was unprepared for.

Caleb Hastings was our leader, a man whom I’m convinced could put Google in its place; he knows everything, and everything is not an exaggeration. He knew about the fighting in Kosova while it was happening because the man reads everything about everywhere. Caleb knows why the Albanians are in love with Bill Clinton because he watched history unfold. And now, roughly 8 years later, he was leading us through Kosovar land.

Caleb told us there was mass genocide in Kosova for years during our lifetime, he told us thousands of Albanians were killed by the Serbs just for being Albanian, and I believed him, but I believed him in a sense of history book belief. I believed it happened, but it was an event that could never touch me. During the 2+ hour drive from Pristina to Peja, I was reliving that history lesson. The words came alive. “Albanians were killed just for being Albanian, they were forced out of their houses, and their homes were torched.” I believed it; it was like traveling through a drive-in junk yard. The panorama is breathtaking, Kosova’s landscape gives me goose bumps, but it’s inked with the splotches of a gruesome battle, it’s still burdened with scorched and shambled structures, houses that were once homes.
It’s funny how ten days can completely change your vision. As I returned from those ten days in Europe, I found my home twenty times more inviting than when I left it. My bed felt softer, and my electronics lost their gleam. Family was more appealing than friends, and I wanted to hug everyone I loved. Two weeks in Kosova was life morphing; God showed me, yet again, that the world far exceeds my Iowan sphere. Weeks before we left for Kosova, my family and I were evacuating our house due to potential flooding. We live right next to the levee, should the barrier break, we would have lost our home. I threw away so much junk during that move; God used that entire summer to teach me that possessions hold no rank. I could have lost all of my belongings, but my belongings held no stock. When the campers came to Camp Te Shend in the Rugova Mountains, some of them brought a grocery sack full of belongings for four days. Some of the campers wore the same thing for the entire camp, but they were still happy because the truth remains: fullness in life isn’t found in the abundance of your possessions.

I love that country. I returned again this summer; the buildings are still destroyed, but things are looking up. There are new establishments, gas stations; etc .which weren’t there a year ago.

My Dad gave me an issue of National Geographic last week, the prize from a victorious garage sale adventure. He told me the issue had a feature on Albanians/Kosova. I just finished reading it. What can be more powerful than reliving a story from the history books? Hearing the story, walking that land, meeting their people, coming home, and then reading about it from a photojournalistic point of view. Alexandra Boulat wrote “Eyewitness Kosova” in National Geographic’s February 2000 edition (Vol 197, No. 2). She was there! She saw it all happen! She saw the roundup of young men; she saw the dead bodies in the forest. When I see her photos I search the crowd for someone I know. Their faces show an attitude of disbelief, anger, submission, fear, and the uncontrollable urge to weep.
These people are hurting. I praise God that he has a plan for Kosova, I praise him that the Zellmer’s, Lindsey Roberts, and the Heston’s have a heart for these people, because these people are people just like you and I. They wake up every morning with goals, they go to school, they joke around, they need to know the purpose of life just as much as we do. They speak a different language, they live in a different culture, they aren’t cursed with humidity, they stand on a different lot of ground, but they need to know the purpose of life just as much as we do.

This world is crazy, it’s people long for something more; show them.

We can’t read history objectively,
Jaime S.

Stranger Interaction at its Finest

I attract strangers. Maybe it’s in my blood; I try to repel them, but there must be something about me that attracts strangers like a gnat to a rotten pear. Yesterday I experienced yet another interesting encounter.

My night at work had drifted dreadfully slow, the customers were few and the tasks grew fewer. A polite customer is a joy; an interactive customer is a rare gem, last night I found my rarest gem. Near 7:30 a jubilant man burst through our doors. Jubilant is an understatement, bursting is literally how he entered our establishment. Too many words could be used to describe this man; he was an overtly animated, excessively ornery, blatantly excited-to-be-alive man. Though he spoke with flawless fluency, English was not his native language, nor was America his native country. With an uneducated stab in the dark, I’d guess he was Indian or of some sort of Middle Eastern descent. This man had a wonderfully intimidating sense of humor, I wanted to laugh at his every joke, yet hide in the corner in fear of being directly joked with.

My co-worker told me this man was a regular as well as a doctor. When I asked what veggies he’d like on his chicken breast he pointed and asked for the Vitamin A, Vitamin E, and the list continued. I smiled sheepishly.

“You don’t know what I mean do you?” he said in a loud voice.

“No sir, I really don’t” I had to admit with laughter. After topping the most scientifically correct sandwich I’d ever topped, the man continued a conversation with us, asking us all our names.

“And you, what is your name?” he said pointing at me.

I smiled, “Jaime.”

“Jaime!” he said, “Jaime was the first name I learned in English! Jaime.” It was as though he was making an eternal mental note of my name. I don’t know how the topic came up, but one of my co-workers told him I was engaged. The man slid down the sneeze guard.

“You’re getting what!” he said obviously baffled. “Don’t do it Jaime, don’t get married. Why are you getting married?”

“Well, I love him,” popped out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop it. I could have delivered a much more meaningful reason for the decision of my marriage, but I concluded that was the briefest.

“You love him, good, so be with him forever, just don’t marry him! Do you know that 98% of marriages end up in divorce, Jaime? Wait, tell me, are you getting married because of your religion?”

He was in my face, but I couldn’t help but laugh at the kind man. “Yes, I love him and I do want to be with him forever,” I replied, “I also want to live with him forever and that’s not something I’m willing to do outside of marriage.”

The man put himself into more shock once he discovered we’d been dating for 8 months and I was 19. I know beyond the shadow of a doubt this man thought I was crazy. He sat down at a booth to eat and just stared at me like I was nuts.

“Don’t do it Jaime!” was hollered several times from his seat. He asked about our life plan and decided my interests in writing/photography weren’t proper decisions, “No, there is no money in that, choose something else.” Before he left, the man came up to the counter and asked for a slip of paper and a pen. “I went to Columbia,” he muttered under his breath. The pen bounced about as he wrote on the back of a receipt: Who you are, who you become, is determined by those who love you. “If you call him a liar, he will be a liar. Keep this paper with you forever, wherever you go, do not lose it, Jaime.”

It’s been more than 24 hours and I haven’t lost it yet. I came home that night and voiced my slight distress to my mother. The man at Subway didn’t anger me, if anything he made the time pass faster and plant a tickle in my tummy, but I’m getting a little worn from the constant disbelief. Andrew and I have only been engaged for two glorious months, yet in that time we’ve gotten an array of different reactions to our decision of marrying one another. I don’t wish to complain, but aside from some church circles, close friends and family, no one seems to think we’re acting rationally.

I know I’m 19, I know that on our wedding day we’ll both be 20. I know that that’s soon for some; I know that it’s not the norm; I know that our lives will change. I know our roles will change, I know relationships will be different; I know it will be hard financially. I know you may think I’m getting tied down, but I wasn’t aware that the walk down the aisle was a proverbial death march as I sacrifice my body to be bound by the dark depressing bondage of marriage.

I’m not blinded by love. I chose my groom, I found him early and I can’t apologize. I believe somewhere amidst the flowers, the rings, the chocolates and the stallions, we forget that love is a choice and not a fairytale. Love doesn’t fall into your hands; you take it in your hands and make it what it is. All inside the confines of God’s ultimate will. Love is not a feeling; it’s a commitment and a choice. It’s a serious choice, but a blessed opportunity to share in unity of a body, mind, and spirit foreign to your own but close to your heart. It happens at all ages.

The world has such an awkward view on marriage; the Bible has such an awe inspiring view on marriage. My Marriage and Family college course is so discouraging; but the Bible tells me that I’m Andrew’s helper; we’re lifelong teammates playing for our coach: God. I’m excited for that! We’re part of a league and I’ve found my partner, we’re ready to play ball despite the disbelief. I can’t let any negativity distract me. Like Andrew says, we’ve already got a full time job: serving our God.

Preparing for stranger interactions,
Jaime S.