Wrecked of the Ordinary

I have 28 pairs of shoes. 28. I sat in my closet today, counting with tears welling up in my eyes. This past weekend Russ and I went to my family’s church in New Braunfels, and in typical God-fashion, the sermon was something that resonated with me deeply. Rusty challenged us to go home and count our shoes. To look around and notice our priorities and understand that to the world, we are rich.    He counted. He had 20 shoes. A middle aged man with twenty pairs. The boys in his family equaled almost 50 pairs. He was broken. 

I was too. The only thing I could think of was my “necessity” for these shoes at the time I bought them. 

Oh. I need a new pair of black heels. Done.

I need some more tennis. Done. 

These flip flops are so cute. Done.

I read a friend’s blog today where he mentioned that since he truly began following Christ, his life has become a little more wrecked every day. I can relate. Suddenly, these 28 pairs of shoes don’t seem exciting, they seem almost ludicrous. Excessive. Selfish. 

Since Russ and I have come back from Lake J, it seems like God is continually bringing us to new realizations. Elizabeth mentioned to me the other day on the phone that it’s almost as though God is dropping atomic bombs on us left and right filled with His presence and His power. And this is such a good thing and I haven’t ever experienced a tangible feeling of constant movement on His part like I have these past few weeks. Because of this, I am so wrecked of the ordinary. 

I want to stay this way. In Jesus for President, Shane Claiborne’s mother is mentioned. She says that there is no more dangerous place for a Christian to be than in safety and comfort, detached from the suffering of others. This breaks me. We always hear about the dangers of apathy and complacency but do we honestly know when we ourselves have fallen victim? 

I don’t think so. Apathy weaves itself around the soul and takes root in the heart. Usually, apathy shows itself as a silent killer: you realize that you have become apathetic; you may even try to desperately separate yourself from the overwhelming urge to just sit, but it never leaves. And you just sit there. Apathy just plays that one chord song over and over again...never really desiring anything different. 

And then you count your shoes, you take a look around your apartment stuffed with things and nonessentials and fancy accumulations and you wonder. Is this all there is? 

He replies, “Sell your possessions and give to those in need. This will store up treasure for you in heaven! And the purses of heaven never get old or develop holes. Your treasure will be safe; no thief can steal it and no moth can destroy it. Wherever your treasure is, there the desires of your heart will also be.” Luke 12:33-34

and

“Learn to do good. Seek justice. Help the oppressed. Defend the cause of orphans. Fight for the rights of widows.” Isaiah 1:17

and

“Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you.” James 1:27

How can we not care? How can we not hear these words and realize that there is more to life and God is calling us to a deeper and more intimate relationship with Him where we truly act out what it means to be a Christ follower?

“Let’s pray that God would give us the strength to storm the gates of hell and tear down the walls we have created between us and those whose suffering would disrupt our comfort. May we become familiar with the suffering of the poor outside our gates, know their names and taste the salt in their tears. Then when the ‘ones God has rescued’, the Lazaruses of our world - the baby refugees, the mentally ill wanderers, and the homeless outcasts - are seated next to God, we can say, “We’re with them.” 

-Shane Claiborne

Ears Wide Open

 

We just left Lake J. We’re back on the road - driving through rolling hills and rain and plenty of restroom stops. I feel as though I need to make a disclaimer before I even begin to sum up my thoughts. 

It’s going to take awhile for me to process what exactly happened this past week. But know this: God moved. The sleeping giant is most certainly stirring. And while there is no possible way for me to fully explain what God is doing in my heart, in Russ’ heart, know that we will certainly try. 

It was about three and a half years ago, and I was having a hard time falling asleep in the stuffiness of my bedroom. Russ and I weren’t married yet, I was in the middle of my first teaching job, and I was restless. 

That night, as my eyes attempted to stay shut despite my mind going 90 mph, I heard a voice so clearly I couldn’t avoid it. 

I am going to use you and Russell.

My eyes opened. I shifted in my covers and waited. Did I just hear what I thought I heard?

You will be used to reach thousands. 

Right about now I started freaking out. My hands started sweating, my heart began beating faster, I glanced at the clock: 2:00 AM. Then I hear something else. 

Isaiah 55 - read it. 

I argued for about three minutes, what with the light already being out and me already being snug in my covers, but I realized fairly quickly just who I was arguing and well, that I would never win. 

I opened my Bible and started reading. This is what stuck out to me in stunning clarity:

Surely you will summon nations you know not, and nations that do not know you will hasten to you, because of the LORD your God,the Holy One of Israel,for he has endowed you with splendor. (v.5)

What strikes me the most about this verse is the ending. It’s what you would call a cumulative sentence - everything is at the beginning. However, we could miss something big here. What  hit me in between the eyes is “because of the LORD your God...” 

Yeah. That little phrase packs a punch. Because of him and his work in our lives, we would accomplish these things.

Do you believe me now? I heard him say. 

I went to bed with a smiling heart and big dreams. 

But, like always, life gets in the way. He’s brought me back to that verse numerous times, and reminded me that what I think I have planned pales in comparison to his dreams for me, but I can be just as A.D.D as the best of them, and I forget these promises. Until this past week. 

It was Tuesday night, before Laren got on stage. Before Sean and the battle cry on injustice. It was just me and God. 

I have something for you. 

I closed my eyes. 

Isaiah 55

I have to admit. I wondered. It’s not like I hadn’t read it before. But I opened it anyway, Looking for what He had to tell me. And there it was. 

Come to me with your ears wide open. Listen, and you will find life. I will make an everlasting covenant with you. I will give you all the unfailing love I promised to David. (v.3) 

I read it about five times, back to back, with tears in my eyes. Because you see, this was just a step in what he had for me. This was only a piece of the puzzle. But I had to listen. 

It came this morning. 

It was the last worship service before we packed up and left. I was tired. The past two nights had taken their toll on my emotions, and I was spent. But I wanted more. 

Eddie started playing “God of this City” and immediately I started weeping. For every line, there was a different scene played out in my mind.

You’re the God of this city - A child is trafficed into slavery every two minutes. Some even in the United States.

You’re the Lord of this nation - Over 90% of the rebel army in n. Uganda are child soldiers

You’re the King of the people - North Korea has one of the most secretive states and leads the world in punishing those who practice the Christian faith. 

You are - But yet, God is bigger. 

And the whole time we’re singing this song, I can’t even spit a word out because I’m absolutely broken. And then, I hear it. 

Tell our story. 

A peace comes over me. I suddenly know what God was wanting to tell me. Tell our story. 

Âbsolutely. 

But that’s not all. Throughout this whole week, the one thing that has echoed repeatedly is the necessity and willingness of sacrifice. Of leaving everything. Of taking that step of faith. Of pushing back doubt and appreciating friends who will push back with you. Of having the courage to dream with God. And knowing that dreaming with God usually ends up with your life being wrecked and exciting and hard and adventurous and breathtakingly serene. 

Russ and I are still processing what God did, and what He is asking of us. I have a feeling though we are on the brink of an incredible adventure.

Battle cry

Last night was...epic. 

I knew something was going down. I felt tension rising - even the clouds were unstable. Around two o’clock, when the thunder crashed against the mountain tops and the sky was about to weep, my heart began singing its own song. Be ready, it said. 

So I was. 

Every night a different NGO has spoken. First night was Zach Hunter, a 16 year-old abolitionist. Tuesday was Charles Lee of Just One (www.just4one.org) and last night was Invisible Children. 

Before Laren got on stage, though, Will walked up to introduced Sean so everyone could hear the story of Falling Whistles. It was short. As Sean began walking off stage, Will pulled him back. A couple weeks ago, they had a conversation about Falling Whistles and the slogan: “Their weapons; our voices.” Back then, they had discussed the implications of a bullet whistle - symbolizing both sides of the token and making a heavier statement. 

Last night Will gave Sean a gift of the first ever bullet whistle. When he handed it to him, he said, “Wait. Blow it.” 

Sean took a deep breath and blew - a sound like no other pierced through the auditorium. Immediately people started cheering and clapping. 

Will turned to the audience, and I honestly don’t remember what he said, but I do know that he asked if we were willing to stand with Sean and Zach and Dry Tears and Invisible Children and Justin and Kira and everyone else who had presented, to stand and blow our whistles on injustice. 

God moved. I felt it in the breeze coming through the back doors. With tears in my eyes and my heart finishing its song from earlier in the day, I blew the whistle as loud as I could.

Injustice rests only in the shadows. Last night, the whistles pierced through the darkness and moved the heart of God. The battle cry sounded. 

There’s a striking beauty in being uncomfortable. Not many will dirty their hands in an effort to spread love and fight for the cause of the widow, orphaned, or houseless. However, the beauty comes in letting go and trusting that God knows above all. The beauty comes in looking around and seeing a community of believers ready to fight the battle with you. Taking that step has never looked so serene. 

So here I sit in the cafeteria, empty save for workers taking their lunch break and a few friends talking in the corner. I expect something else will happen tonight. In the distance, the clouds are beginning to gather. The faintest sound of a beating drum is echoing in my heart. 

The battle has begun.

We are the lost ones?

Stephen Christian once said that we could change the world, and strike a chord within people. Rewriting history - regardless of us being considered a “lost generation” by society. Today, Russ and I went to our friend Sean’s breakout session about his time in the Congo. His first question? Why are we here. What causes us to care. And, do people around us care the same. If not, how can we make them? We are now the largest generation in history. 70 million people strong. And, we have the most resources of any people in the history of the world to make a lasting impact. 

Some facts. The Congo is the size of Eastern Europe. Bringing it home, if you were to take Mississippi, and draw a line that separates everything east - you would essentially have the country of Congo. This whole country - the size of England, Germany, Scotland, Spain, etc...only has 200 kilometers of road. Getting somewhere that only takes fifteen minutes by plane could take up to eleven days by moto (a bike). 

1500 people die a day.

5 million have died since 1998.

It is the bloodiest war in history - the most rape and the second highest number of child soldiers. 

He went in to gain knowledge about what was going on. He planned to stay for about a week and ended up there for almost two months, researching and talking to rebel leaders and meeting children ravaged by war. At one point, a rebel leader looked at him and said, “You can’t see them, but they can see you.” Sean asked him to clarify. 

The guy responded, “There are hundreds and hundreds of kids in these woods with their gun pointed at your little white head.” 

Still, he knew their story had to be told, so he stayed. Text messaging his family that he loved them, and beginning to chronicle his journey in a blog. (What I linked to in the previous entry)

One of the most riveting and gut-wrenching stories from his trip is of the falling whistles. You see, in the Congo, kids too young to hold a gun are given whistles to wear around their neck. Their job is to blow them as loud as possible while going into battle. They are the front lines. If they fail, their job then becomes to take the bullets and build a human barricade with their falling bodies. Hiding behind these kids, shot to death and piled on top of each other, the rebel army can fight. He heard this story and broke. That night, with tears streaming down his face, he wrote in his blog, “With falling whistles their only hope is to feign death or accept it. But fall they must.” 

He’s telling this story, and it’s the second time I’ve heard it but just as powerful because he’s fighting back tears and the room full of people are wiping them from their cheeks, and I suddenly know. This is what makes us human. This connection. This urgency to act out on injustice - a sense of kairos that something has to be done. I could see it in the eyes of so many of the people in that room, and I got chills thinking about what would result. 

Once he finished, I noticed a few people crowd around his table to talk with him. It was one man that stood out though. I noticed him when he walked in, unassuming with a gentle smile and eyes that held a deep knowledge. He approached Sean, and I heard him tell him something, and then Sean broke into tears. Weeping, his hands covering his face, the man drew him into an embrace. 

It was then I realized. This man, who walked into this room on this day to hear Sean speak, is from Congo.

I’m crying as I’m writing this because I’m consistently humbled of how God moves. Be open. Be mindful. 

God is working, and He’s quickening hearts and He’s waking up sleeping giants. 

Be ready.