Everything.

My deepest desire is that 2014 be a year of spiritual growth the likes of which I have never experienced. Which is bold/terrifying, because I've noticed that when you ask for stuff like that, God goes COOL BRO, and throws all kinds of crazytown curve balls at you. So, there's that. But, hey, bring it on. I'm not arrogant enough to say I'm ready for it, but I trust that asking for a heart-level revival will result in blessing. Papa God, let's do this.

(Blog post,  January 8, 2014)

I think one of the most quoted verses in the Bible is the one about considering everything a loss for the sake of gaining Christ. Everyone is very down with saying, "Yes, give up all worldly things so you can be just like Jesus and have peace and joy and a big fancy sash." More often than not, the "everything" becomes "the bad stuff you want to do but shouldn't", and we leave it there.

But that passage in Philippians 3 is about much more than trying to be good like Jesus. It is, maybe, the most powerful, bold statement about faith that exists in the Bible. Read it, for real:

'What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God on the basis of faith. I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead."

Paul is a man desperate to be as closely linked to his Savior as he possibly can. To not just be like Him, but to know Him in a intimate way that can only come from sharing His joys and sufferings. Think about it: you and your best friend have been through a lot together, haven't you? There have been tears, laughter, trials, major heartbreak, huge success. And, if you're good best friends, you were on that journey together. You went through the ups and downs together, because that's what friends do. I think Paul is saying he wants to be Jesus' best friend. To know Him absolutely as much as he can. 

And he takes it a step further. Paul says that anything outside of Christ is worth losing, if losing that thing means a more intimate knowledge of Jesus. Read it again. Anything outside of Christ is worth losing, if losing that thing means a more intimate knowledge of Jesus.

I've always skimmed over Philippians 3. I didn't understand the weight of Paul's words until very recently. And when I finally did, it was the sweetest moment of joy. A few weeks ago, in the middle of a hard week, I was driving down Old Hickory praying. In the middle of what was probably a very self-centered prayer for comfort, Paul's words came to mind. "I consider everything a loss for the sake of gaining Christ," followed very quickly by the settled feeling in the pit of my stomach I'm beginning to recognize as God's presence (which is maybe the hippie dippiest thing I have ever written, but I'm tellin' ya it's true). And I burst into tears and started laughing all at once, because God is so good. I wrote in January that I wanted to be recreated. That I wanted to know Christ more. In essence, I wrote my own Philippians 3. Friends, THE LORD ANSWERED. He answered by taking away the things that were making me comfortable. He answered by asking me to give up the things I loved best at the time. He answered by asking me to step out in faith. He answered by letting me hit rock bottom, over and over again, so hard my teeth rattled. He answered by dragging me to the very end of my rope. He answered by letting me drown. Because to know Christ's suffering means we must also suffer. There is no way to grow in faith without going though the valley.

But He also answered by rescuing me out of my darkest places, over and over. He led me through the valley, never letting go of my hand. He taught my heart how to trust, and how to sing in every circumstance. He showed me what grace looks like, and what relentless love looks like. Yes, relentless was the word of 2014. On my bad days, I would have said 2014 was a year of relentless suffering. And it was. But I only have to zoom out a little to see that, ultimately, it was a year of Christ's relentless love for His girl. For me. No truth could be more evident.

So as this year ends, and a new one shines bright with promise and hope, I'm lifting up major praise hands. Grateful hands, and a heart that feels the beauty of life even more now that it has known suffering. The valleys of this year will always hold a tender place, because they were the fruit of a big prayer. A prayer I'm not sure I expected to be answered. But it was, and in the answer I was given the very best thing. An intimate knowledge of my Jesus, and His love. And if all of this year was to bring me to that  point, then it was worth it a thousand times over. Because nothing, nothing, surpasses the greatness of knowing Jesus Christ, my Lord.

Happy New Year.

Breath from Heaven.

There is this Amy Grant song that I look forward to hearing around Christmastime. I'm not an avid Amy Grant fan or anything, but I really do like her song "Breath of Heaven". Mostly because when I was in middle school, I liked to croon soulfully along with her and pretend I was on a stage with lots of lights and people sitting in awe of my tear-jerking performance (if only I were kidding). Truly, though, sometimes that song gives me chills. It humanizes a story that I think often gets put on a pedestal. 

The Christmas story is, clearly, the most miraculous, beautiful story out there. Christ coming down from heaven to be born in a manger, shepherds, stars, angels, and so on. But as it was happening, I have this idea it didn't feel all that miraculous or beautiful. At least, not at first (the angels probably brought some major glam points, but that was later).

Think about it. You're a teenager. You're engaged to a guy you might not even know very well (biblical times, guys. Weird marriage situations). An angel has told you the king of the freaking world is growing inside you, but like who's going to believe you when you share that around the circle at bible study? Then your husband to be is all, "ROAD TRIP," and you have to pack up and go to Bethlehem on a donkey literally days before you're about to pop.

This is where Mary is on the eve of Jesus' birth. Exhausted, probably sore, dealing with some combination of fear/shame/confusion/joy/anticipation. Definitely uncomfortable because donkey. And most likely very, very unsure about how this is all going to turn out. Now, I'm not trying to liken myself to the mother of Christ or anything, but I do know what it is to feel some combination of fear/shame/confusion etc. It doesn't feel good at all. 

I have to wonder, did Mary's parents support her? Or were they ashamed? Did they believe her? Did she have siblings, and how did they treat her? What about her community? I think we get it into our heads that Mary and Joseph were some kind of royal family, full of wisdom and trust, always calm. Basically perfect. And for that reason, God chose them to be Jesus' parents. 

But the rest of the Bible tells stories about God picking the most unlikely candidates to fulfill His plans. So Mary and Joseph weren't perfect. There's a really good chance they weren't straight A students and the prettiest people in town. There's a really good chance their lives were messy, and broken, and rough. There's a really good chance they kind of freaked out over the baby situation.

Which is why I love that Amy Grant song so much, because it humanizes Mary in such a tender way.

I am waiting in a silent prayer
I am frightened by the load I bear
In a world as cold as stone
Must I walk this path alone?
Be with me now

Breath of Heaven, hold me together
Be forever near me, Breath of Heaven
Breath of Heaven, lighten my darkness
Pour over me Your holiness for You are holy
Breath of Heaven

Do you wonder as you watch my face
If a wiser one should have had my place?
But I offer all I am
For the mercy of Your plan
Help me be strong, help me be, help me

This girl is struggling. She is real. She isn't on a pedestal, she is at the end of her rope. I love her for it. Mary's humanity is a reality I think slips through the cracks around Christmastime. But it makes the story even more beautiful. When we take away the flash and glam, what we are left with is a picture of what it looks like to trust in God's plan, no matter what our circumstances. The best thing is, we never trust in vain. Case in point: the stable. When Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem, with Mary IN ACTUAL LABOR, there was nowhere they could stay. You better believe Joseph did everything humanly possible to get a bed for his girl to give birth in, but nothing. Can you imagine the emotions of that situation? The worry, and fear?

But God is a God of provision. He is proving that to me right now. And He proved it to Mary and Joseph that night in Bethlehem, right before the biggest miracle the world ever saw. He gave them a little miracle, a stable, to let them know that He is capable of providing. Not just physically, but emotionally and mentally and every other way we will ever need to be provided for. He provides actual breath in our lungs, and when we feel like we can't breathe on our own strength, He breathes life into our most dead places.

So Mary wasn't perfect. And she probably had her share of tearful conversations, and crying out to God, and panicking. But, ultimately, she knew that the only way to survive was to lean into her God of big promises, and big deliveries (no baby pun intended). This Christmas, I'm thankful for that picture. Not a sparkly manger scene, but a girl at her wits' end, asking for peace that passes understanding, and receiving it.

Fender Benders & Not Being Alone

Earlier this year, I learned how to change a car battery. On Thursday, I learned about the importance of having car insurance and a what a tie bar is. 

Long story short, a seemingly harmless fender bender has turned into $3,500 worth of repairs and one very sad looking Honda Civic. And I kind of feel like, of course this is happening. Of course 2014 is ending with one more calamity. Because why not? Let's just go ahead and hammer home the point that I have exactly zero pieces of my life together. There is no pride for me to cling to, no assets, no worldly accomplishments, no boyfriend, no career. I am, truly, at the end of every rope.

I have never been more at peace.

There is a new stillness at the very bottom of my heart. It's kind of under some fear, anxiousness and a little worry, but it is there. And it is solid. It is balancing. It is a peace born from the ultimate cry of "I give up", because that's where I'm at. I give up. There is not a thing in my life I can control or fix. Not a circumstance I can steer. This is not my game, it is bigger. And, yes, it has been an absolute mess lately. But what I'm guessing, given the evidence, is that the mess is all very purposeful. It has to be. If not, then it is a cruel cosmic joke from a deity that is clearly out to to get me. But that isn't possible. Because I know my God. He has shown me His heart this year. He has taken my hand and led me through the valley. No, it didn't feel good. It was awful. But He was there. So He must still be here, and still leading. Know how I know? 

The police who took my information when I wrecked didn't ticket me for having expired insurance. 

The other woman's car didn't even get scratched.

(^ actual Christmas miracles from above)

Jen offered her spare room while we figured out what to do.

Dave spent hours tinkering with my car to figure out what happened.

Everyone I know in Nashville has offered me a ride somewhere.

Darcy is letting me borrow her car.

Y'all. God has gifted this lonely little girl the most authentic, caring, beautiful community. And it took a car accident of epic proportions for Him to prove just how not alone I am. As this week has progressed, and people have been there every step of the way, I've been kind of speechless. And filled with nothing but gratefulness. This is the least ideal situation to be in, with no car, no money, and no idea how to fix either problem. But evidence of God's goodness has been everywhere in the last five days. When I say, "Oh, it's all going to be fine", I'm not saying it as a last-ditch effort to make myself feel better. I say it because I have never been more sure of its truth. A part of that comes from being surrounded by community. Which I think I always knew, but didn't quite understand. All those verses about the body and building each other up and share in sorrows and joys and whatever, THAT is the safety net created very specifically by a God who treasures community and understands its vital importance. After all, He is a triune God. Three in one. He gets the community thing. And He has gifted it to us, so we can have tangible evidence of His unending mercy. It is a gift most evident when we are at our most broken and unlovable. A gift for the moments we have absolutely nothing together. That, friends, is no accident. That is exactly how it's supposed to be. And the only way to reap the benefits of such a gift is to admit when shit hits the fan and you need help. Which can feel like the most shameful, horrifying thing to do in a world of Instagram filters and liposuction. Nobody wants to admit their imperfections, or their failures. 

But here's what I know: surrendering and receiving require the same posture. Arms out, palms up. Offering nothing but asking much. When we're there, the Lord is able to fill those empty hands. This week, He filled me up with community. And I could almost see Him winking, and saying, "See? They have always been there, just as I have. You are not alone, sweet one. And you never will be."

Kate Winslet.

It's Christmas. Usually, I love Christmas. I am the first person to start playing the Charlie Brown Christmas album, and to put up the tacky Christmas Cat. This season has always been a time tinged with just a little bit of very real magic.

This year, though, there is a part of me (the majority) that would be happy to skip over Christmas all together. Not because of the hustle and bustle, or the commercialism, or the merriment. But just because I cannot muster up the energy to pretend to be jolly. I'm not jolly this month. Here's the thing. I think I expected that, given how the rest of this year went, December would be some happy holiday fix to eleven months of learning, and growing, and big time challenge. What actually happened is that December started out like this: Me, completely alone in a two-bedroom apartment. I am Kate Winslet in that scene in "The Holiday", with the dog and the scarf and the stove.

Alone is a situation I hate. It's a personality type thing, a lifestyle thing, and just a me thing. The first time my college roommate wasn't home for a weekend and I had the apartment to myself, I couldn't sleep. I almost always ask someone to run errands with me, because it's just better that way. And, okay, I get it. Being alone is not a huge deal. People do it all the time. Some people, I've heard, actually enjoy it. Not me. Especially not at Christmas.

But here I am. And I don't think it's an accident. It's just another step. I can almost audibly hear Jesus saying, "Trust, my girl. That is what I am building in you. Hang in there." The snarky child in my heart wants to respond, "Really? For REAL, though?! We aren't done with this yet??" To which He gently answers, "No."

Which, you know, is actually the most incredibly beautiful gift. I think. Well, no, I know it is. I know that what God has shown me this year, and what He will continue to show me every day until Paradise,  is an unconditional and relentless love that will not allow for half-finished work. He is not going to let me get away with happiness, when what He wants for me is holiness. Not that the two cannot coincide. I genuinely believe they can (and will) be one and the same. But sometimes, the road to holiness means walking through decidedly unhappy things. Like being alone at Christmas.

The truth is, I am not actually Kate Winslet in "The Holiday". I'm not going to sniff the gas fumes off my stove (I am going to California over the holidays, though). There are moments of self-pity in which I convince myself that my life is the worst and how could anyone have luck this bad. I compare and speculate about everyone around me and how they all look so happy and why am I the only tragic person in this city and why am I at this wedding alone right now. Thankfully (and through no power of my own), those moments are becoming fewer. Well, not fewer. But more short-lived. Because what is real, what is beginning to outshine the fear and the self-pity, is peace. Peace that whispers this really is just a season, spring is coming, and that which has died will be reborn in the most glorious way.

I think that peace is called hope. And, if I'm not mistaken, hope is the foundation of Christmas in the first place. So no, I'm not jolly this year. But I am hopeful. Persistently hopeful in present discomfort. Feeling very alone, but not truly alone at all. Because He is Immanuel, God with us. God with me.