My unedited thoughts on my night.

Tonight I sat in a room designated for prayer with five of the outgoing HNGR interns. They have another 10 days or so on Wheaton's campus. Then they go home and then they will get on planes alone and go to other continents. They'll meet people and love people and feel lonely and miss Wheaton and home so much it hurts. They'll see things they couldn't imagine and won't know how to explain to people who haven't. They'll see sides of God they wouldn't have gotten to see otherwise. They'll laugh and grow and get proficient in another language and shower way less than they would have ever been okay with here. They will be surprised by how normal they feel at some points and terrified by the changes they sense in themselves at others.

I had nothing to do for the hour we were together but talk to God, which was the assignment for the evening. Mostly lately I've been talking to Him about myself. They've been really good conversations. But tonight when I started doing that, He was pretty clear there were other things for me to talk to Him about. Namely, those five people.

How do you pray for people? Really, I mean it- you, a person, not "you" like the world. How do YOU pray for people? What does that even mean? How do you know if you're doing it right? I felt like I was, tonight. I really mean "felt". I kept thinking that I wasn't, because- how do you know if you're doing it right?? But what I felt, was like I wasn't doing much of anything besides sitting with Jesus as we both gazed at each of them in turn (hope they didn't notice), and I, well, tried to think His thoughts about them. And it felt as right as any way of praying does.

I spent ten minutes on each, because we had about an hour. One of them I prayed absolutely not a word for. Oh, I prayed for him, earnestly and with joy, but don't ask me what. I have no idea. God knows. I prayed for one and just smiled at who God made him to be. That was mostly my prayer, being glad he is who he is, and asking that he becomes even more of it. I prayed for one and had situations to pray over. I prayed for what I imagined I saw in the lines of her face as she journaled a few seats away. I prayed for one and I had a LOT of words. I don't know where they came from but I asked God for a lot of very specific things about her next six months. And one I was just starting to pray for when she came over and quietly asked if she could sit with me. I got to hold her. It is easier to pray for someone when you are holding them.

That was my night.

bless the day this restoration is complete.

"Much-Afraid," said the Shepherd again,
"tell Me, what is the matter. Why were you so fearful?"

"It is the way You have chosen for me to go," she whispered.
"It looks so dreadful, Shepherd, so impossible. I turn giddy and faint whenever I look at it. The roes and hinds can go there, but they are not limping, crippled, or cowardly like me."

"But, Much-Afraid, what did I promise you in the Valley of Humiliation?" asked the Shepherd with a smile.

Much-Afraid looked startled,
and the blood rushed into her cheeks and ebbed again, leaving them white as before.
"You said," she began and broke off and then began again.
"O Shepherd, You said You would make my feet like hinds' feet and set me upon mine High Places."

"Well," He answered cheerily, "the only way to develop hinds' feet is to go by the paths which the hinds use- like this one."

Much-Afraid trembled and looked at Him shamefacedly.
"I don't think- I want- hinds' feet,
if it means I have to go on a path like that,"
she said slowly and painfully.

The Shepherd was a very surprising person. Instead of looking either disappointed or disapproving, He actually laughed again.
"Oh, yes you do," He said cheerfully.
"I know you better than you know yourself, Much-Afraid. You want it very much indeed, and I promised you these hinds' feet."

O God of peace,

Who hast taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved,

in quietness and in confidence shall be our strength:

By the might of Thy Spirit lift us, we pray Thee,

to Thy presence,

where we may be still
and know that Thou art God;

through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

-Book of Common Prayer,
"For Quiet Confidence"

Easter weekend.

From last year:

Easter weekend:
Jesus died.
Death = all things that God is not.
All things that He hates.

Death:
Cigarette burns
and knife scars
and being left on the street like trash
from the people who were supposed to take care of them.
Bodies
beautiful bodies, designed for movement and joy and being held,
bodies being sold,
being used.
Grief, and fear.
Precious girls being raped.
Death...

Easter...
Jesus died.
Jesus came back to life
because death, all that death, could not hold Him.

So, I've gotten frustrated for most years of my Christian life at Easter time.
Christmas makes sense to me (who doesn't like Christmas carols?!)
but I've never been able to work up any sort of emotional response to Easter.


...Jesus came back to life
because He overcame death.


...Yeah. This past week, leading up to Easter? This Saturday Easter vigil,
when we started the night in the church in darkness, with solemn readings,
until we got to the point where they sang it, softly at first, and then we repeated:
Christ is Risen, He is Risen, Christ is Risen, Alleluia...

And the lights turned on and we rang our bells and we sang joyful songs,
because we were marking that:
He had risen from death,
the death had ended,
His power was greater...

I don't really know what to say,
other than that
Easter means so much to me this year.

...Oh Lord, Lord who is greater than death,
You chose to enter and experience our world.
And not just Emily's world, my experience of sunflowers and happiness and friendship.
You willingly put Yourself into a world of cigarette burns and rape and fear and grief.
You experienced it to its fullest.

There is no suffering that was not borne by You,
and so You identify with those who suffer.

And though I am so confused by You, though I want to be mad at You,
though I am so sad and freaking angry the world is not how it should be...

I am so grateful and bewildered that You would ever enter this world,
that You experienced suffering.
When I think now about
what lay upon You on that Cross...
well.
And,
You are greater than death. Than all that death.
And to that we get to say,
Alleluia,
and we mean it,
in whatever way we can know how to understand it,
even the tiniest bit.

In my sad and confused and questioning but being-ever-held-by-You little heart,
I do love You, so much. Thank You for knowing that, in Your crazy, knowing-things-I-don't-know-how-to-say way.
Amen.

(back to this year):
I'm excited for Easter vigil tonight. Come, Lord Jesus.

potentially awkward post.

So, according to Google reader, 86 people subscribe to my blog.

I have NO idea who most of them (you?) are. Far far less than that comment (hint hint) and still way far less than that ever have mentioned to me that they even know I have a blog.

So... if you read my blog... would you please consider leaving me a comment and letting me know? It would be encouraging to me to know who reads whatever things make it out here :-)

love,
me

ps- this can, btw, include those people who I know DO read my blog but NEVER comment. Matthew Hiltibran. And MOM.

sore.

Tonight at church, during the sermon as my thoughts wandered (it's all in really fast Spanish, ok? I heart my Spanish, but sometimes I drift...), I realized that in the back of my mind I was mentally counting all the parts of myself that are sore at the moment.

Sore- my legs. I woke up this morning with my thighs telling me I had gone on an extra-long run yesterday. Except that, I didn't. So why are they sore? Because a beautiful group of girlfriends had a trillion fun people over to their house to drink apple cider, listen to live music, and catch up. I was thrilled to hug and laugh with a bunch of people I love and smile at their gorgeous faces and love the music. And, when it turned into a hard-core dance party? Well, was I in the MOOD. We laughed and talked and danced. A lot. So much so that today... my legs are sore. (Yowch.)

Sore- my scalp. Because all through Iglesia tonight, I got to hold one of my favorite three-year-olds on the planet. She reached for me as soon as she saw me, and wanted to be in my arms for the entire service. And during the sermon, she whispered, "I want to 'brush' your hair!". I took it down and for the next twenty minutes, she sat on my lap facing me, combing her tiny fingers through my curls and crazily looping them into my elastic, then taking it out and doing it again. Over and over. She was still hanging around my neck when I went up for Communion; the pastor grinned as he blessed her in my arms and I took the Eucharist with a huge ponytail hanging off the top of my head, a la Pebbles Flintstone. By the end of the service, my scalp was singing that it was ready to stop being pulled at. But I got to spend a whole church service holding a beaming toddler I love... what better reason to be sore?

Sore- my heart. I have truly not been able to get enough of the Word the last couple of weeks. I'm memorizing passages by accident, over how often I find myself needing to read them. "When I am afraid I put my trust in You, in God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid." "The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to comfort all who mourn, to grant to those who mourn in Zion... a beautiful headdress instead of ashes." "That they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord to display His beauty." "For God alone my soul waits in silence; from Him comes my salvation." "Trust in Him at all times, O people, pour out your heart like water before Him; God is a refuge for us." "Be... giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." I am having to anchor myself in these words, and I am drawn to them right now in a way I haven't felt in months, maybe years. It's wonderful. And it will not leave my heart alone, including parts which are tender and just wanting to hide. I am sore.

Tonight I sat in church and as I counted my sore spots, I couldn't help but smile. Sore legs, sore scalp, sore heart. And I thanked God for the great richness in which I somehow get to live.

the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit.

Loving this.

I haven't spent a ton of time in Isaiah since freshman year at Wheaton, but that immersion in it was enough that I still name it immediately as my favorite book of the Bible.

I'm remembering why.

Soaking in:

"He has anointed me...

to comfort all who mourn;

to grant to those who mourn in Zion-

to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,

the oil of gladness instead of mourning,

the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;

that they may be called oaks of righteousness,

the planting of the Lord,

that He may display His beauty."

Isaiah 61:1-3

Also loving:

Psalms 56, 62, 95.

Duh.

This week was my turn to teach the kids at Iglesia on Saturday night. The lesson for this week of Lent was on Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. We had great fun acting it out- I brought bedsheets so that we could wrap one of our eight-year-olds up as Lazarus' body (his buddies had quite a good time "burying" him, although there was a bit more "Get way back in your tomb!!! HA, YOU ARE SOOO DEAD!!" than the deep grief and mourning we were trying to convey the disciples would have felt).

In addition to acting it out, we read the story and asked the kids questions to encourage them to put themselves into it. I read to them about Jesus hearing that his very best friend who he loved was sick, of his waiting but then coming back, of seeing Martha and Mary in pain and knowing that Lazarus had died. I read to them that verse which brings me such comfort in my own times of sadness, John 11:35: "Jesus wept".

"See, guys, when Jesus saw that his friend had died, he cried. He loved Lazarus. This story brings me a lot of comfort when I feel sad, because I know that Jesus has felt sad too."

One of our guys really, really likes helping us read. This is great and sometimes slightly problematic as he chimes in pretty often. We love his enthusiasm and are working on limiting the distracting. So I had him right next to me so he could make his helpful comments to me and not to his friends as I read and asked for feedback.

After I said, "I feel better because I know that Jesus wept", he threw the full weight of his second-grade body back against the chair and let out a slight sigh that had "Let me teach you" written all over it. He tugged on my sleeve to make sure I'd seen that he'd thrown his arm in the air.

"Yeah, dude? What do you think about that?"

"Well..." he shook his head. "Well... DUHHHH."

"Duh?"

"Duhhhh, Jesus knows what it's like to feel sad. I mean... He was like, BORN here. And I mean, He was here..."

He paused.

"...Like, before us."

Oh, right. The Incarnation. And God, creator of Heaven and earth. The whole point of the story I claim to live by. So often I do live like it's news to me that I'm still trying out.

Jesus was here before me.
And He knows all things.
And He wept.

Duh.

My bath was too hot, I got soap in my eyes, my marble went down the drain, and I had to wear railroad train pajamas. I hate my railroad train pajamas.

Not gonna lie,
I felt a little bit like Alexander this week.

As a joke I said in an email that chocolate would be appreciated...

Where do friends like mine even come from??!!!

(I appreciated all of it, but it does deserve noting that the Ritter sport was mailed from Colorado. Also, you can't really see them, but the bag in the back holds CAKE POPS that Meg made from scratch... because she is an absurd baking rock star.)

.grateful grateful grateful.