Just Wandering About Life

“Why are you sleeping? Watch and pray.” Jesus told the disciples on the night before His crucifixion.

I always wondered at this. Why? Jesus knew what was coming. What did it matter? Was it so wrong to rest when disaster was about to strike? Sleep or wake, who cares?

When the disciples did wake up, they witnessed the destruction of the one they loved the most — their teacher, their friend, their savior. They awoke to their world in complete chaos. They scattered in the mess of His crucifixion. In horror, they watched an event they couldn’t fix or control unfold.

It would have been so much easier if Jesus would have let them sleep to their hearts content, but He insisted that they wake up and watch. Why?

While they watched their world being shattered, they also witnessed the most profound, transformative, earth-shaking, heart-breaking, redemptive acts known in the history of man. They watched our past, present and future being restored through the spilled blood of Christ. This is astounding to me.

They had to see it. The world needed them to suffer the sight of the Lamb slain. They had to be awake. They had to see and know and witness what He did — if they hadn’t, could we have known?

So what’s my point? My point is this: our souls are asleep. We have let life get to us, and we are cowards in a corner, sleeping. We binge our shows, we create our social media presence, we lose ourselves in meaninglessness and people-pleasing, and we seek ease and comfort more than ever; all this, in essence, to avoid pain and reality of a broken world and our broken insides.

I love peace. I long for it inside me, outside of me, and before me. For years, I had been fooling myself into thinking that I had it. After all, my best friend is the Prince of Peace. My Prince, however, has been peeling back the layers of my heart these days. What I believed to be peace, I see, is a soul that is sound asleep. It’s curled up in the fetal position, clutching a pillow with its hands over my ears. It fell asleep drowning out the noises of life. And I’m fine with it. I’m fine with living a sleepy life as long as my inner calm is kept.

But avoiding eye contact with pain does not negate its presence. A Netflix binge won’t soften its stare. A strong social media presence won’t distract it. Attention-getting and people-pleasing won’t shake it loose. Anti-depressants won’t cure it. Pain and suffering will remain. And Jesus wants me to wake up to it? WHY. 

I argue this: the suffering we are called to face is not desirable, but it is necessary for this season we are in. Just as the disciples had to witness the agony of His death and triumph of his resurrection, we must see what He is doing in order to bear witness to it. We can’t know what He is doing unless our souls are awake. Like the disciples, we will suffer the pain of being awake. We will see things we don’t want to see. We will hear things that will echo in our memories forever. We will endures aches that nothing can numb out. But we will know. We will know that He is good. We will see that He is greater, we will hear the truth from His lips, sweeter than ever, and we will hold His hand tighter. We will be a people who know their master better because we aren’t afraid to stare into the face of suffering.

“My peace I give to you, my peace I leave with you,” Jesus responds. He promises this to us. His peace surpasses all understanding. In the swirl of conflict and anxiety, He offers us this hope. His peace isn’t unattainable. Why would he offer something that can’t be held onto?

Let’s shake our drowsy little souls awake and remind them that He is coming soon.

It was Christmas Eve, and I wanted to be happy… but wanting doesn’t make it so. I was tired. I was anxious. I was ready for the day to be over the minute it started. Those of you who know me well know that this isn’t like me. The holidays are usually a life-giving time, but for some reason, the anxiety and pressure from the doings left no time for being.

I got a call to pick up a package, so I begrudgingly trudged to the post to get it. When I came back to my apartment, I noticed it was a UPS package — I wasn’t expecting anything. I opened it up and found this yellow hat, sent by one of my dearest friends in the whole world. I began to cry. The color yellow — my reminder to be joyful. Despite this reminder, however, I still struggled that day to find peace in my head and joy in my heart.

Fast-forward to today– ooooh buddy, it was one of those “I’ve had it” sort of days. While not full of misery, enough had happened to put my emotions on the edge of a cliff. I knew I had to be still, so I went into quiet hiding.

That exposition was super long — here’s the meat:

I stood in my kitchen, sobbing, while the majesty of God knocked me senseless. He’s here. He’s real. Sometimes that reality just cuts you to the quick and you lose it, you know? The reality that there is a God who loves us so deeply that He came to be with us…to suffer in our place… to become sin who knew no sin… who gave us His spirit so that we’ll never be alone or powerless ever again. What a truth to rest in, and what a hope to anchor ourselves to.

After my kitchen weepy-fest, He drew me to Isaiah 61:3:

“[He came] to comfort those who mourn, to give them a beautiful crown instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit.”

What a glorious thing to ponder. Literally, joyful oil dripping down our face in His Presence, while wearing a beautiful crown that carries our identity as sons and daughters of the Most High. Not only that, but we are clothed in righteousness…gorgeous garments that we can freely twirl and spin and dance wildly in… with a spirit so desperate and hungry for Him that nothing else in this world matters. I got super poetic here, but come on now…can’t you just see it?

When I put on the yellow hat again, I saw the crown and the oil. Beyond that, I saw that I can’t manufacture gladness in myself. Force of will can’t produce what only His Presence can offer. I can’t praise when I’m clinging to my own selfishness and striving. I can’t be free to dance when I’m sitting in the ashes of my disappointments and anxiety.

We are sons and daughters, crowned with the glorious hope and knowledge of Christ, smothered with the unquenchable love of a perfect Father, and drenched in purest joy that can’t come from any other place except the throne room of heaven. How marvelous, and yet how quickly I forget this truth… Oh Jesus, help me to remember.

Recently, I started binging a Netflix original called “I AM A KILLER.” Never thought I would start a blog post with that, but here we are.

This documentary series recounts the story of men who are sentenced to death row.  These men, their family members and friends, the victim’s family members, and other various investigators are all interviewed.  The last 5 minutes are given to the men, and they are allowed to view some of the interview footage from their own family and the victim’s family.  Their remorse and shame is heart-wrenching.

One man, tears streaming down his face, said:

“It breaks my heart to know that I will always be remembered for the worst thing I ever did.” 

He knew he was guilty.  He knew that he was undeserving of grace and freedom.  He had been labeled a murderer, and he would die being remembered as just that.

This man, who has spent over half his broken life in prison paying for his crime, are all of us.  We are guilty of the unspeakable.  On our Richter scale of sin, we may believe our bad hasn’t quite reached calamity-level destruction; yet, even the smallest quiver of wrong impacts and devastates.  We have been marked and known for our worst, and the world will always remember us for it.

But Jesus, friends.  JESUS.

I imagine Jesus walking into that man’s cell. I can see Him putting his gentle and mountain-moving hand upon his shoulder.  Looking straight into the face of Love, the guilty man hears Him say:

“I took care of it, friend.  My identity is yours now. Clean and clear.”

Jesus was given death row. Isn’t that strange to think? The sinless lamb was lead to the slaughter. Accused unjustly for crimes unspeakable to that region, he was given death.  And He went through with it.  He did it for the man on death row.  He did it for us.  He did it so that the world would have eternal hope and a new identity.  We are no longer called by what the world sees and hears.  We are called His own, without blemish, holy, and beloved.  How precious is that gift? If only we would take ahold of it.

Let’s stop condemning and cursing those who have lost their way.  Let’s walk into those cells and speak what is true; they are seen, known, and loved.  Because of Jesus, they are new creations, and He is calling them out of the grave.  

I first heard the Lord call me into the nations at a Passion conference when I was 17.  Classic, right? As the music swells, the hearts are bleeding, and the surrender is at its fullest, I said yes to the call. I had no idea what that even looked like, but it sounded exciting, and I was ready.

A few months later, I found myself in the Dominican Republic; a one-week trip that infected me with the “serving the nations” bug.  I vividly remember walking along a dirt road in my floral pink and green skirt, sweat dripping down my neck and dust caking my ankles.  Miserable with heat, yet something struck me deep, and I whispered: “I could do this for the rest of my life.”  Bold, maybe unprecedented words from an 18-year old kid.  I had no idea what I was talking about.  I had no idea what serving the nations actually looked like, but here I was, believing that I was going to do it.

This belief took me to application processes that would allow me to return to the DR for long-term service.  I was confident that’s where He wanted me.  However, doors were closing left and right, and it wasn’t happening. Something shifted in my heart, and suddenly I felt no peace.  Did I make a mistake?  Did I jump in too soon?  Was I just making all this up?

“Just wait.  You have to more to learn.” I heard Him say.

Fine.  So I went off to college to learn.  Boy, I’m glad I did (college is good, kids.  Go to college).

A year later, I was being prayed over by a brother in Christ.  He told me he had a Word from the Lord to give me.  Who am I to refuse?  So, I listened.  Every word aligned perfectly with my life circumstance, my heart, and my spirit. It was intense and good; however, his final words cut me to the quick and shut me down right then and there:

“Your call to serve the nations is from the Father, and I hear Him speaking China to you.”

Okay, yeah no.  That’s not happening.

 I was willing to go anywhere, but not China.  This man clearly misinterpreted what God wanted.  He was crazy.  All. Of. The. Nope.

Another year passed by, and I had left the thought of China stuck waaaaay back in the ignored spaces of my mind.  But it came back, and this time, I couldn’t ignore it.

I was fast asleep, and the Lord came to me in a dream.  I was holding a scroll (it’s a dream from the Holy One, so obviously it’s a scroll).  I had a list of countries on this scroll – a list that reached the very bottom.

“Where do you want to send me, Father?” I asked, skimming all the exciting places I would have loved to serve. Without hesitation, I heard His reply:

“Beijing.  I want you to go to Beijing.”

 When I woke up, I was stunned.  Was He actually serious?

“Alright Father, if you are serious, you have to make this happen. I don’t know anyone in China, and I won’t go looking, so you have to give me the connection.”

 Three weeks later, He did just that.

A new guy I was working with at my job asked me what I wanted to do when I graduated.

“Oh you know, I thought about doing overseas work – maybe teaching.  Africa… China… South America… who knows.” 

 “If you are serious about that, I have some connections with people who work overseas.” he said.

“Really? …Where…?” I knew what was coming.

“BEIJING.”

Dang it.

That summer I prayed harder than ever.  I wish I could say I prayed with a heart of complete love and surrender, but I prayed the “remove this cup from me” prayer.  All the while, I was growing more certain that China was exactly where He wanted me to be.  He was insistent, and I wanted what He wanted more than anything.

Another year later, I was on the flight to Beijing, completely afraid, completely unsure, and yet completely held in His perfect will.

After my return from one of the most incredible summers of my life, I sought His face about returning to China for good.  I didn’t have a burning bush dream or a prophet’s word; all I had was a choice and the longing to continue walking in His will.  So, I said yes again, and prepared to go back to China… this time, for a year.

That year of preparation and fundraising was hard and humbling, and yet I saw Him work in ways I couldn’t have dreamt possible.  The body of Christ came together on my behalf and loved me beyond what I could have asked for.  He kept me sane and whole because of the Beloved body.

When I left for China that second time, I left with confidence.  I knew this was exactly where He wanted me, and I couldn’t escape His immense pleasure. But the year I expected was not the year I received.  It was more. More dependence, more humility, more suffering, and more joy than I could have ever imagined.

But, that’s another good story…

“So, how was China?” — everyone all the time.

This is the anthem cry of every acquaintance I run into on the streets.  It’s a sweet, small-talky sort of question that has a not-so-sweet, plunge-into-the-depths-of-my-soul sort of answer.  The best way I know how to answer this question is by turning back the pages of time (literally) and asking the Abby who was in the thick of it.

Below is an excerpt from my journal in April.  Homesickness was real, discouragement was my constant companion… yet God was at work: 

“There are days when I can’t stand the smells — there is a distinct odor in buses that is overwhelming.  There are days when I want to put a sock in every loud mouth of the street-sweepers. There are days when I feel overwhelmed and suffocated by a world I can’t understand. 

But in those days, there are moments of sincere sweetness and all is put to right.  I see a daughter taking gentle care of her elderly mother.  I see a dad playing peek-a-boo with his baby.  I see old men cutting up on the sidewalks.  I see the narrow, smiling eyes of our taxi driver through the rearview mirror as he laughs at our bad singing.  

I see, for just a moment, what He sees.  He sees precious human beings who are made in His image.  Human beings that He died for as much as He died for me.” 

It’s difficult to summarize a whole year of your life in a few minutes, isn’t it? But when people ask how China was, I think about this passage.  I think about the hardship, the discouragement, and homesickness.  I think about the countless carsick journeys, the constant state of confusion when my limited Chinese language failed me, and the ache of missing friends and family.

But then, the Holy Spirit comes in and reminds me of so much more.  He brings to my mind’s eye what He saw when I was mentally and emotional undone.  He saw a creation he was mad for.  He saw beauty in the disaster.  He saw a culture He understood and loved for all of it’s quirks and strangeness.  And He reminds me how often He gave me His eyes to see the same.

We see the world through our tainted, dirty, sin-stricken eyes.  But when we step into the kingdom of God, He doesn’t just change our hearts, He changes our vision.  He helps us to look at people through His perfect lens.

How can we love the unlovable without His vision?  How can we see what’s really going on inside a person unless we remove the pride, prejudices, and judgements that so often distort our sight? How can we know Him more unless we see what He sees?

So to answer your question, China was exactly what it has always been: a place full of precious ones who He asked me to see and love.  I failed too many times to count, but He never did.

This is a poem I wrote at 1:30am when sleep wasn’t happening.  I had been pondering the incredible refinement that takes place in transition.  I’ve never published poetry… this is new for me… Have grace, friends.

TRANSITION… 

New faces, new spaces, new traces of confusion that beat against my head.

Where is He in this?

In broken places, in last embraces, in heart races because my faith has taken me beyond my comfort,

I can’t find Him here.

Yesterday we were thick as thieves, heart on my sleeve, and I believed we would stay that way forever.

But today He’s gone.

They say He’s near, but I fear that I can’t hear Him even when I try my best to listen

What’s He saying?

 

…TRANSFIGURATION…

Time has passed, it’s gone at last, the confusion that massed and cluttered my head

I start to see Him again.

But it’s different this time, my heart aligns, and I incline my ear to hear what I haven’t heard Him say before.

He’s speaking new things.

I feel alive, and I’ve contrived to understand the change of scene

There’s something different about Him.

But you know, it’s strange; He never really changed, not even a bit.

I think He gave me new eyes.

 

…TRANSFORMATION.

The new faces and spaces and traces of confusion uncovered what I couldn’t see before.

He sharpened my vision.

There was a face, a space, a trace of Goodness and Mercy that comfort couldn’t show.

He widened my gaze

In a place unknown, feeling alone, I never really was because He simply refined me.

He never left me for a minute.

If we raced forward past the borders of our imagination, perhaps we would see that with Him, there is always more.

Before I left for China, I had an intense closeness with the Father.  It was raw, real, and deep.  I was smitten by Him, and it was a sweet time.  I really didn’t think it could get any better.  I didn’t think it could (or should) change.

But when I arrived in China, everything did change.  I knew nothing of the place I was living, the people I was surrounded by, or the God who promised to be with me.  I felt abandoned, to be honest.  I couldn’t see Him, feel Him, or hear Him.  Silence and loneliness consumed me for a time.  But I kept seeking, praying that I would find Him in the midst of that heavy and hard transition.

Over the course of time and a lot of hardships, I began to know Him in a way I had never known Him before. My Father in China was different.  He was more compassionate, more gracious, more loving, and more joyful than I could have ever imagined.

If I had stayed in my comfort zone…if I had stayed in my familiar, happy, contented place, would I have ever known what I know now?  Could I have ever understood that what I thought I knew about Him was merely the surface?

Dream deeper and wider dreams about Him, friends.  He is greater than you think He is right now.  He is more extravagant and extraordinary than you believe Him to be right now.  He is more compassionate than you’re experiencing Him to be right now.  He is more.  How can we know this unless we step out and to see it? It may not be a physical stepping out of a country or city; it may be a step out in a job, a relationship, a calling, a whatever.  Wherever that transition needs to take place, I promise you He will be on the other side of it, ready to blow your mind with more of Him.

A year ago, I sat on my bedroom floor (as I often did), and poured my guts out to Father.  I told Him that everything I had was His.  And I meant it.  I truly, in the intense, profound, glorious Presence, wanted Him to have every atom of me.

Fast-forward to last week.  I’m sitting on my bedroom floor, worn-out, hair falling out from stress, lungs filled with particles of pollutants; I’m suffocating under the weight of loss and grief.  Homesickness and culture-stress has hit me again, and I can’t bear it.  Pursuing His call overseas cost so much more than I ever dreamed.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” I bitterly whisper to Father, spitting out the tears that have crept into the crease of my mouth.  “I’ve given you everything.” How could I possibly give Him more?  I’ve assessed the damage… I’ve given Him my future, my comfort, my family, my future hope of marriage, etc.  What more could He want?

He asked me something in that moment… something that completely unhinged me: “But Abby, aren’t I enough?” 

I want to believe that He is, but sometimes, I struggle.

I think sometimes I surrender for the sake of obedience; it’s what my faith requires of me.  But I think Father intended surrender to communicate so much more than obedience.  It says that He is, in fact, enough.  It speaks of His great worth.  The beauty of surrender is that it is a constant act of worship. “You are worth more than even this,” it says, “and that is enough for me.”

It doesn’t always feel like I’m screaming out “You are enough” when I’m curled up on the floor, sobbing, blubbering, and aching to have back what I gave to Him.  Most of the time, I feel bitter over having lost something I loved so dearly, but He is in the business of sweetening the bitterness in me.  His precious reminder that His worth is proclaimed in surrender fills up the deep and wide in my heart.

Surrender is more than giving up what we cling to; it is taking hold of His goodness and allowing Him to fill the empty spaces left behind.  He is worth every ounce of pain that the act of surrender inflicts on us.  Simply stated, He is always enough.