Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Man's Best Friend
What is it about dogs? I grew up with a veterinarian for a mother, but I have honestly never understood the “man’s best friend” thing. There are times when I am so blown away by the fawning that takes place over these hairy bone-chompers that I begin to suspect some sort of fairy dust was sprinkled over them.
This morning I walked into the office of the company my dad works for, back for the summer and ready to hit the stacks of numbers that needed to be entered into the computer. As the door swung shut behind me, a tiny white mop flew at my legs. Then this fluffy hairball seemed to decide it should climb up my legs – madly scratching my knees and then flinging itself in a sort of a flurry against my shins. I finally realized this little explosion was a dog, so I shook it off as I headed to get my assignment and maybe inquire after the presence of a creature in an office.
“Isn’t she cute?” I was asked.
Ah yes, exactly the word I was looking for.
I examined the shaking, jumping mass at my feet and noticed it had a little ponytail on top of its head. A little lopsided perhaps, but it kept the hair out of its face and helped expose those pitiful eyes.
Cute?
“Oh, yeah…whose dog is this?”
The boss’s son’s dog. Of course.
“But why do you have it in here?”
She has separation anxiety.
I laugh. “A needy dog.”
The laugh is returned. Then a more serious, “She’s afraid to be alone.”
I wouldn’t mind being left alone.
“Lily” is now licking my feet around my shoes as though they were melting rainbow popsicles in the middle of a hot August day. It tickles and I can’t really help but smile.
Just as I can’t help but smile an hour later when the boss’s adult son, who works in real estate next door, walks in carefully cupping a little paper with some sort of food in it. I watch him walk to the back room, eagerly looking for the furball.
Another hour later, and the woman who works in that back room is on the floor throwing toys around for “Lily” and at some other point in the day she goes next door to get “Lily” a bone.
“Isn’t it just so cute how she lies to chew her bone?” I am questioned.
What a weird question. Can a dog lie cutely?
I obligingly peek my head around the counter. I have work pretty hard not to laugh. If lying cutely involves flattening oneself to look like a rug, then Lily wins the award. I wonder how you can even tell she is eating her bone – Lily’s head is so hidden in a mass of hair and her entire body looks so devoid of any shape, I simply have to trust that someone with better vision than I would notice the chomping and avoid stepping on her.
As I contemplate this little Maltese later in the day, I find myself at the question I began with: What is it about dogs? So I turn to my ever trusty Google and soak in words of wisdom.
The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too. ~Samuel Butler
However,
Don't accept your dog's admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful. ~Ann Landers
For,
I've seen a look in dogs' eyes, a quickly vanishing look of amazed contempt, and I am convinced that basically dogs think humans are nuts. ~John Steinbeck
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Suffering: 1 Peter
(Note: This is a paper I wrote for my Bible class that very strongly affected me. I have never posted a paper before, but I am doing it only in the hope that it may encourage you as much as it has encouraged me.)
George MacDonald said, 'The Son of God suffered unto the death, not that men might not suffer, but that their sufferings might be like His.” It is easy to find ourselves believing that because Christ endured the shame of the cross, our lives as Christians should be pain-free. But our worlds come crashing down when difficulties overwhelm us and we find ourselves crying out, “Why?! If Christ has redeemed us, why is life so painful?” In his first letter, Peter writes of Christ’s sufferings and reminds Christians that, not in spite of, but because of redemption, we are to partake in these sufferings. As difficult as it may be, we can see our suffering in light of God’s plan for humans in history, and can cling to the knowledge that God’s faithfulness will allow us to persevere to the end.
Peter begins by saying that Christ’s sufferings were not a surprise; they were prophesied of long before he was born into this world. His sufferings were planned and they were necessary as a means of grace (1:10-11). In chapter two, Peter expands on this idea saying, “Christ suffered for you” (vs. 21) and then refers to Isaiah 53 to show what this suffering looked like. It was foretold by the prophet Isaiah that Christ would be a “man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering” (53:3). Christ was purposed to suffer for our sake, it says. “But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities.” Not only this, but Christ suffered in silence, patiently enduring the cup that had been given to him. “He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth” (53:7). This was done that we might be saved and so we might have an example.
Christ’s suffering is to be a picture for Christians, “that you should follow in his steps” (1 Pt. 2:21). Peter’s encouragement to Christians about how they should suffer makes it clear how this is so. Just as Christ endured suffering in silence, so we too should bear suffering knowing it pleases God (2:19). Christ suffered “though he had done no violence, nor was any deceit in his mouth” (Is. 53:9), and so too should Christians be willing to suffer for righteousness. Peter says that it is not worth anything to suffer for doing what is wrong (2:20), but “if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed” (3:14). Christ shows us that suffering will seem unjust; in fact, that very nature of true suffering is a seeming unfairness. We should not be “a murder or thief” in order to suffer (4:15-16).
Isaiah 53 also says that “it was the LORD’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer,” which is echoed in 1 Peter 4:19 when Peter speaks of “those who suffer according to God's will.” We are to bear up under suffering because God wills it for our good. It is never an accident or something that “just happens.” It is something we are called to (1 Pt. 2:21) and something we should expect (4:12). This is because suffering, although usually afflicting our body, has spiritual effects. Christ’s suffering was a means of our salvation; our suffering is a means of our sanctification. “[H]e who suffered in his body is done with sin” (4:1).
This is why Peter also reminds Christians that their sufferings are temporary. Suffering is just “for a little while” (1:6,10). These earthly sufferings do not last forever, and we have something much better, something eternal, that we hope for. This reflects Christ’s example, for Isaiah said, “After the suffering of his soul, he will see the light of life and be satisfied” (53:11). Our present, fleeting suffering promises a greater reward. Not only this, but we suffer for the glory of God. Peter commands Christians to “rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed” (4:13). We should be glad to suffer as our Savior did. He suffered for us; now we suffer for Him – for His sake and for His glory. And we know that, by the grace of God alone, we too “will share in the glorification to be revealed” (5:11). Our sufferings are not forever and they are not in vain. We suffer as the body of Christ: in union with Him and with Christians around the world (5:9), clinging to an everlasting hope.
This hope that we have pushes us to persevere. Peter says those who are suffering “should commit themselves to their faithful Creator” (4:19). In the midst of our suffering, we turn ourselves over to the One who is faithful, and are comforted knowing that He will see us through to the end. Oftentimes, we see suffering break people’s faith, and it is frightening. But we can trust that God knows those who are His, and those who have been saved by the blood of Christ will ultimately be saved from the trials of this world. If we are truly saved, our suffering will be a proving and refining of faith, and we will persevere. God will not let anyone slip out of His hands. Even when it seems like our lives are in shambles, we are His, and we will always be His. Though we suffer, “through faith [we] are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time” (1:5).
For these truths of Scripture, I am overwhelmingly grateful. These past two years, I have felt a greater awareness of suffering than I ever have before, and I am confident this awareness will be ever-increasing. I feel as though my life has been sheltered from any real suffering, but I am forced to watch those around me lose loved ones to drugs, to death, to atheism. I ache with those who are in pain, and it is hard to trust that this pain is somehow for their good. I long to see my brothers and sisters in Christ sanctified, but it is so difficult to watch them live out the Christian’s calling and “participate in the sufferings of Christ” (1 Pt. 4:13). And all the while I know that this is my calling also. I do not feel as though I am suffering now, but Scripture clearly says I will. I pray that God will make me willing to suffer. Right now, I am scared to undergo persecution or pain, but I know that it will not be my strength that will enable me to endure.
This past fall, my Resident Director, Jennifer Uwarow, told me she believed God had been preparing her as she grew up, through her mom and the things she read, to suffer. A week and a half later, Jen was told that cancer had come back into her body for the third time, and three months later, she died. I wept for Jen and I ached for her husband Pete, but the truths of 1 Peter have never been more visible to me. I saw very real suffering in their lives, but still they clung to Christ. And I knew when Jen died that her temporary suffering was over; she was with her Savior and filled with everlasting joy in His presence. I know God preserves those who are His, and I trust that He will carry me, as He did Jen, over whatever He has in store for this life. All the while, I will sing, as Jeremy Camp does, “There will be a day with no more tears, and no more pain, and no more fears/ There will be a day when the burdens of this place will be no more; we’ll see Jesus face to face.”
George MacDonald said, 'The Son of God suffered unto the death, not that men might not suffer, but that their sufferings might be like His.” It is easy to find ourselves believing that because Christ endured the shame of the cross, our lives as Christians should be pain-free. But our worlds come crashing down when difficulties overwhelm us and we find ourselves crying out, “Why?! If Christ has redeemed us, why is life so painful?” In his first letter, Peter writes of Christ’s sufferings and reminds Christians that, not in spite of, but because of redemption, we are to partake in these sufferings. As difficult as it may be, we can see our suffering in light of God’s plan for humans in history, and can cling to the knowledge that God’s faithfulness will allow us to persevere to the end.
Peter begins by saying that Christ’s sufferings were not a surprise; they were prophesied of long before he was born into this world. His sufferings were planned and they were necessary as a means of grace (1:10-11). In chapter two, Peter expands on this idea saying, “Christ suffered for you” (vs. 21) and then refers to Isaiah 53 to show what this suffering looked like. It was foretold by the prophet Isaiah that Christ would be a “man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering” (53:3). Christ was purposed to suffer for our sake, it says. “But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities.” Not only this, but Christ suffered in silence, patiently enduring the cup that had been given to him. “He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth” (53:7). This was done that we might be saved and so we might have an example.
Christ’s suffering is to be a picture for Christians, “that you should follow in his steps” (1 Pt. 2:21). Peter’s encouragement to Christians about how they should suffer makes it clear how this is so. Just as Christ endured suffering in silence, so we too should bear suffering knowing it pleases God (2:19). Christ suffered “though he had done no violence, nor was any deceit in his mouth” (Is. 53:9), and so too should Christians be willing to suffer for righteousness. Peter says that it is not worth anything to suffer for doing what is wrong (2:20), but “if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed” (3:14). Christ shows us that suffering will seem unjust; in fact, that very nature of true suffering is a seeming unfairness. We should not be “a murder or thief” in order to suffer (4:15-16).
Isaiah 53 also says that “it was the LORD’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer,” which is echoed in 1 Peter 4:19 when Peter speaks of “those who suffer according to God's will.” We are to bear up under suffering because God wills it for our good. It is never an accident or something that “just happens.” It is something we are called to (1 Pt. 2:21) and something we should expect (4:12). This is because suffering, although usually afflicting our body, has spiritual effects. Christ’s suffering was a means of our salvation; our suffering is a means of our sanctification. “[H]e who suffered in his body is done with sin” (4:1).
This is why Peter also reminds Christians that their sufferings are temporary. Suffering is just “for a little while” (1:6,10). These earthly sufferings do not last forever, and we have something much better, something eternal, that we hope for. This reflects Christ’s example, for Isaiah said, “After the suffering of his soul, he will see the light of life and be satisfied” (53:11). Our present, fleeting suffering promises a greater reward. Not only this, but we suffer for the glory of God. Peter commands Christians to “rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed” (4:13). We should be glad to suffer as our Savior did. He suffered for us; now we suffer for Him – for His sake and for His glory. And we know that, by the grace of God alone, we too “will share in the glorification to be revealed” (5:11). Our sufferings are not forever and they are not in vain. We suffer as the body of Christ: in union with Him and with Christians around the world (5:9), clinging to an everlasting hope.
This hope that we have pushes us to persevere. Peter says those who are suffering “should commit themselves to their faithful Creator” (4:19). In the midst of our suffering, we turn ourselves over to the One who is faithful, and are comforted knowing that He will see us through to the end. Oftentimes, we see suffering break people’s faith, and it is frightening. But we can trust that God knows those who are His, and those who have been saved by the blood of Christ will ultimately be saved from the trials of this world. If we are truly saved, our suffering will be a proving and refining of faith, and we will persevere. God will not let anyone slip out of His hands. Even when it seems like our lives are in shambles, we are His, and we will always be His. Though we suffer, “through faith [we] are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time” (1:5).
For these truths of Scripture, I am overwhelmingly grateful. These past two years, I have felt a greater awareness of suffering than I ever have before, and I am confident this awareness will be ever-increasing. I feel as though my life has been sheltered from any real suffering, but I am forced to watch those around me lose loved ones to drugs, to death, to atheism. I ache with those who are in pain, and it is hard to trust that this pain is somehow for their good. I long to see my brothers and sisters in Christ sanctified, but it is so difficult to watch them live out the Christian’s calling and “participate in the sufferings of Christ” (1 Pt. 4:13). And all the while I know that this is my calling also. I do not feel as though I am suffering now, but Scripture clearly says I will. I pray that God will make me willing to suffer. Right now, I am scared to undergo persecution or pain, but I know that it will not be my strength that will enable me to endure.
This past fall, my Resident Director, Jennifer Uwarow, told me she believed God had been preparing her as she grew up, through her mom and the things she read, to suffer. A week and a half later, Jen was told that cancer had come back into her body for the third time, and three months later, she died. I wept for Jen and I ached for her husband Pete, but the truths of 1 Peter have never been more visible to me. I saw very real suffering in their lives, but still they clung to Christ. And I knew when Jen died that her temporary suffering was over; she was with her Savior and filled with everlasting joy in His presence. I know God preserves those who are His, and I trust that He will carry me, as He did Jen, over whatever He has in store for this life. All the while, I will sing, as Jeremy Camp does, “There will be a day with no more tears, and no more pain, and no more fears/ There will be a day when the burdens of this place will be no more; we’ll see Jesus face to face.”
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Thoughts of the Week
He was despised and rejected by men
He carried the burden of my sin
He was pierced and crushed for all to see
His suffering was done for me
Silently, He was led like a lamb
Before the slaughter – the great I AM
The perfect sacrifice was He
Chosen, revealed, unblemished for me
The wrath of God poured out that day
Smitten by Him, my debt to pay
My iniquity borne on the tree
He was forsaken – forsaken for me
And for a glory which will never fade
He emptied Himself and me He made
A new creation – unchained and free
That exalted on high forever He might be
And so in suffering we now partake
The earth and all it holds, forsake
In light of His glory it grows dim
And we offer ourselves up now for Him
He carried the burden of my sin
He was pierced and crushed for all to see
His suffering was done for me
Silently, He was led like a lamb
Before the slaughter – the great I AM
The perfect sacrifice was He
Chosen, revealed, unblemished for me
The wrath of God poured out that day
Smitten by Him, my debt to pay
My iniquity borne on the tree
He was forsaken – forsaken for me
And for a glory which will never fade
He emptied Himself and me He made
A new creation – unchained and free
That exalted on high forever He might be
And so in suffering we now partake
The earth and all it holds, forsake
In light of His glory it grows dim
And we offer ourselves up now for Him
Who’s speaking? The fog sets in
As the decibels increase. The pores
Of the receiver contract in agony of
Ambiguity (listen to me) longing
For middle ground (or a bridge) –
Something solid in the midst of a
Chasm. Two different worlds, sound
Waves jabbing between, opinions like
Foils. Each is parried, more strongly,
Forcibly than before, with more
Misconstruction. Knowledge is
Knowledge: adult women who take
Dim outlines and cry “Fact! Fact!” but
Only flip the pages posthumously.
Is it…for the sake of the tooted horn it
Must be proven. Our ears melt off
And leave us in a world of silence.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Dance, Dance, Dance...and Lunge!
When a dance is approaching, you can tell by the atmosphere in the girls’ hall. Dresses fly back and forth between rooms, jewelry is discussed in detail, and your roommate asks you at 12:30 pm (after you’re already in bed) if you know how you’re going to be doing your hair (and then you laugh when your other roommate replies that she’s just going to shave it all off). It doesn’t matter that Providence dances are small and simple – definitely no high school prom – I enjoy them more than any other dances I’ve ever been to.
This past Saturday afternoon I was diligently trying to discipline my brain into doing homework, but when I ran back to my dorm to get something at about 2, I couldn’t help but notice that some girls were in the room across from me having their nails done by one of the other girls. Far be it from me to abandon such beautification processes – I was sucked in. Before I knew it, my nails were being filed and painted as we watched the end of some super cheesy chick flick on a lap top.
Two hours later, every outlet in the bathroom was overtaken by some sort of hair frying device and girls were brushing their faces and stabbing their hair with bobby pins. It gets a little warm and crowded (Beware: turning around and finding your face engulfed in a stream of hairspray meant for the head next to you) but it’s moments like these that make me happy. And the dance is just a good time. It’s so fun to see everyone just look amazing (not that we don’t usually, but you know…) and it’s awesome when everyone is able to just goof around and show off our stupendous Dutch (or in my case, home school) dance skills.
I kind of thought that my usual lack-of-strenuous-muscle-use would have me waking up pretty sore the morning after the dance, but all was good. I might be a little sore tomorrow though. We’ll see. I just got back from my badminton class. We have to take two PE classes here at Providence, and badminton is my third. This is not only because I typically enjoy PE, but badminton is pretty much the best thing in the universe. I grew up playing it in my backyard with my family and now I can’t help but look forward to reliving my childhood every Thursday night.
Most of us don’t have super badminton skills, and usually stick to lunging like crazy people all over the court, stabbing at little yellow birdies – invisible against the blinding gym lights. And we can’t help but laugh at ourselves (and each other) when we wind up for a really powerful smack and end up swinging at air, with a plastic birdie in our face. Pretty much the best stress reliever of all time. And I must say, I’m just proud I’ve finally learned how to keep score and can actually get the birdie past the service line.
Enough rambling for the night, I guess. All my badminton adrenaline has rushed out of my body and I’m sitting here trying to hold my eyes open at the moment. I should probably go pack – I’m going home for Easter tomorrow! I hope life is simply fantabulous for you right now :o)
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Sun Wars
One of the unique things about going to a small college is that you have small classes (Wow, that didn’t really wind up sounding very brilliant). Small classes can be a disadvantage when you’ve just read some crazy poetry that made absolutely zero sense to you and your professor opens up his book and looks expectantly at your whopping class of four, waiting for some mind-numbingly brilliant comments. It’s moments like these you wish you were in a class of four hundred and could just shrink into the background and not have to pretend your brain actually works. On the other hand, a small class means you are forced to talk (as I just mentioned), more individual attention (*shudder* expectant stare-downs), and better relationships with your professors (depending on how well you can pretend your brain works). Best of all, though, it means flexibility. And flexibility means Starbucks time!
Today my Contemporary Poetics class headed over to Starbucks to sip coffee, discuss poetry, and enjoy the ridiculously warm weather. I was pretty excited until about fifteen minutes into class when I realized ‘enjoying the ridiculously warm weather’ also meant bake. I was sitting there attempting to make sense of the words on the page in front of me when I felt a strange sensation on my arm. My pale, white skin cells were shrieking “Help us, Rachel Fleeman; you’re our only hope!” Since I typically pay great attention to any part of my body that takes the time to shriek at me, I tried to subtly shift my body. Unfortunately, I was sitting perpendicular to the sun, so this simply meant the sun was now hitting the back of my left arm rather than the front of it. Once this strip of my skin joined in the protesting, I did a little more adjusting, trying to somehow make it so the sun could bake my right arm instead of my left arm, but I could still see my professor. I think I finally accomplished this by some awkward twisting and careful positioning of my arms and head, but by then it was too late. I was forced to resign myself to being half-lobster…now with a back ache and neck crick.
If you’re wondering what the moral of this story is, welcome to the club. I think it might have something to do with wonderful sunny California, awesome small classes, and needing to remember sunscreen the next time our flexible class relocates. On the other hand, it might have to do with hallucinations of screaming skin cells, conveying events completely hyperbolically, and trying to avoid pretending my brain actually works. Take your pick. I’m going to go soothe my hair follicles.
Today my Contemporary Poetics class headed over to Starbucks to sip coffee, discuss poetry, and enjoy the ridiculously warm weather. I was pretty excited until about fifteen minutes into class when I realized ‘enjoying the ridiculously warm weather’ also meant bake. I was sitting there attempting to make sense of the words on the page in front of me when I felt a strange sensation on my arm. My pale, white skin cells were shrieking “Help us, Rachel Fleeman; you’re our only hope!” Since I typically pay great attention to any part of my body that takes the time to shriek at me, I tried to subtly shift my body. Unfortunately, I was sitting perpendicular to the sun, so this simply meant the sun was now hitting the back of my left arm rather than the front of it. Once this strip of my skin joined in the protesting, I did a little more adjusting, trying to somehow make it so the sun could bake my right arm instead of my left arm, but I could still see my professor. I think I finally accomplished this by some awkward twisting and careful positioning of my arms and head, but by then it was too late. I was forced to resign myself to being half-lobster…now with a back ache and neck crick.
If you’re wondering what the moral of this story is, welcome to the club. I think it might have something to do with wonderful sunny California, awesome small classes, and needing to remember sunscreen the next time our flexible class relocates. On the other hand, it might have to do with hallucinations of screaming skin cells, conveying events completely hyperbolically, and trying to avoid pretending my brain actually works. Take your pick. I’m going to go soothe my hair follicles.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Deep within me lies a creature –
An overwhelming creature
Who is slowly nipping away at my being
I feel myself helpless in its power
Driven mad with its incessant clawing
Rip…Shred…
The parchment of my soul
The fabric of my heart
Torn by that which is so hideously alive
Every so often its claw
Slides its way up my throat
Despite the tight constrictions
It wedges into my fleshy mouth
Awaiting the moment it can flash out
And grasp its prey
I leave a trail of brokenness in my wake
Because within me rages a creature –
A ravenous creature
An overwhelming creature
Who is slowly nipping away at my being
I feel myself helpless in its power
Driven mad with its incessant clawing
Rip…Shred…
The parchment of my soul
The fabric of my heart
Torn by that which is so hideously alive
Every so often its claw
Slides its way up my throat
Despite the tight constrictions
It wedges into my fleshy mouth
Awaiting the moment it can flash out
And grasp its prey
I leave a trail of brokenness in my wake
Because within me rages a creature –
A ravenous creature
Just Thinking
Sacrifice is an interesting thing. The Miriam-Webster dictionary defines sacrifice as “destruction or surrender of something for the sake of something else.” We give things up because we think something else is more important – this seems pretty noble. But I wonder if it can also be dangerous. The other day in my Contemporary Poetics class we were talking about Romeo and Juliet. Romeo kills himself because he believes Juliet is dead. Dying for love – what a wonderful sacrifice! But does the fact that he dies make his love real?
Last night almost our whole school headed to Hollywood to see Grease at the Pantages Theatre. If you’ve seen the movie, you probably know that it’s got a lot of fun songs, but a fairly depressing ending. Sandra Dee sacrifices her good-girl nature so she can be with the guy she’s crazy about. My roommate was really upset about this turn-out. She didn’t have gut to stand up for herself and who she really was, I was told.
On the other hand, the whole basis of our Christian faith is sacrifice. Christ sacrificed himself for us and we are to give ourselves as “living sacrifices.” Why isn’t this wrong? Why does it feel so stupid to deny yourself for some guy, but so necessary to deny yourself for Christ? Why do so many of our “sacrifices” feel so shallow and ridiculous? Meaningless.
I wonder if it’s because so often we’re sacrificing “for the sake of something else” but this “something else” doesn’t last. It’s temporary, fleeting, inconsequential. I didn’t feel a sense of satisfaction watching Sandra Dee get her guy, because I didn’t have any real confidence that their relationship would work for more than two months. Romeo is heroic to many because once he and Juliet are dead it seems their love is immortalized. We can’t touch it.
We like the idea of the eternal. Sacrificing for something real. In my Bible class a couple of weeks ago we talked about the resurrection as our reason for sacrifice. We can surrender ourselves to God now because we hope for something greater – namely, the resurrection of the body. It’s hard to sacrifice like Christ wants us to sacrifice. Romantic characters are more appealing because they get immediate benefits. Christians don’t. But in the end, our sacrifice will be rewarded by God himself. Pretty awesome huh?
Last night almost our whole school headed to Hollywood to see Grease at the Pantages Theatre. If you’ve seen the movie, you probably know that it’s got a lot of fun songs, but a fairly depressing ending. Sandra Dee sacrifices her good-girl nature so she can be with the guy she’s crazy about. My roommate was really upset about this turn-out. She didn’t have gut to stand up for herself and who she really was, I was told.
On the other hand, the whole basis of our Christian faith is sacrifice. Christ sacrificed himself for us and we are to give ourselves as “living sacrifices.” Why isn’t this wrong? Why does it feel so stupid to deny yourself for some guy, but so necessary to deny yourself for Christ? Why do so many of our “sacrifices” feel so shallow and ridiculous? Meaningless.
I wonder if it’s because so often we’re sacrificing “for the sake of something else” but this “something else” doesn’t last. It’s temporary, fleeting, inconsequential. I didn’t feel a sense of satisfaction watching Sandra Dee get her guy, because I didn’t have any real confidence that their relationship would work for more than two months. Romeo is heroic to many because once he and Juliet are dead it seems their love is immortalized. We can’t touch it.
We like the idea of the eternal. Sacrificing for something real. In my Bible class a couple of weeks ago we talked about the resurrection as our reason for sacrifice. We can surrender ourselves to God now because we hope for something greater – namely, the resurrection of the body. It’s hard to sacrifice like Christ wants us to sacrifice. Romantic characters are more appealing because they get immediate benefits. Christians don’t. But in the end, our sacrifice will be rewarded by God himself. Pretty awesome huh?
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Juxtapositions
There I was - sitting outside, feeling like the world was about to end. My curly hair was doing a strange frizz job on top of my head; my brain felt like it had been run over by a very large semi-truck; my stomach had a queasy feeling due to containing only coffee; my eyes were welling up with big, bad, angry, stressed, just-want-to-sleep tears. If I ever need a reminder of my desperate need to depend on God’s grace, I just have to transport myself to mid-terms. It seems that every semester, during these days, God paints for me a canvas of contrasts: my helplessness and His grace, my worry and His peace, and my lack of trust and His faithful control.
My Tuesday and Wednesday of this past week felt like two totally opposite days. On Tuesday I had a midterm (which I didn’t feel very confident about) and a test. I also had a paper to finish writing for the next day and I got back a paper on which I did not think I received a very good grade. Now, most people might be able to handle this stuff pretty well (which in all honesty, is hardly anything compared to what some people actually had), but if there are a couple things I have learned about myself they are that a) I deal very poorly with stress, and b) I cannot function on less than 6 hours of sleep. Hence the frizzing and crying scene.
Notice all of my excuses. I often think my life is one big excuse, comprised of all the reasons why it is ok for me to complain. God, however, is constantly reminding me that this does not sit well with Him. Wednesday, He reminded me again, sprinkling my life with completely undeserved blessings. Hair that worked, an enjoyable first class, a time of singing in the chapel, canceled afternoon classes, a refreshing nap, an encouraging professor, and friends that never cease to make me smile. Finally, I reached the dreaded moment – the poetry field trip I had completely forgotten about until it was painted into the picture on that terrible Tuesday. And trust me, it had caused me to mope and complain (excuse: who wants to listen to poetry on their last night before Spring Break?).
The first stop my English professor, Dr. Belz, insisted on making during our field trip was at Laguna Beach to watch the sun set. In all honesty, I don’t know if I can say I had ever seen a sunset on the beach. But take it from me now, it was amazing. And as I was meandering along the beach back to the car, I recalled the Psalm I had read that morning. Psalm 57 says “I am in the midst of lions…Be exalted, O God,” and “They spread a net for my feet…My heart is steadfast, O God.” At the time I read that, I was really struck by the fact that such contrasting thoughts were juxtaposed next to each other. Dire situations, but praise and trust.
D. Martyn Lloyd Jones reminded me that God often uses small trials in our lives to prepare us for large ones. You would think that knowing this, I would hit midterms and just be ready to jump for joy. Instead, God has my history professor tell me that stress is a part of life and I can’t let my life collapse because I’m not in the best mood or I don’t like the way things are working out. College is just the precursor to the rest of life. Then God sends me off on a night of beach walking, Mexican food eating, and poetry listening in order to get me asking myself, “Why are you so willing to praise God only on the good days?”
So here I am telling you that college is crazy. And life is crazy. And I will probably spend many more mornings as a sobbing mess giving myself motivational pep talks. And I have a very strong feeling that I will not be jumping for joy once finals roll around. But thank goodness for professors who are willing to tell you things like they are, for stiff necks from sleeping on patio furniture, and for beach sunsets. May I someday learn to “take refuge in the shadow of [God’s] wings until the disaster has passed (Ps. 57:1).
My Tuesday and Wednesday of this past week felt like two totally opposite days. On Tuesday I had a midterm (which I didn’t feel very confident about) and a test. I also had a paper to finish writing for the next day and I got back a paper on which I did not think I received a very good grade. Now, most people might be able to handle this stuff pretty well (which in all honesty, is hardly anything compared to what some people actually had), but if there are a couple things I have learned about myself they are that a) I deal very poorly with stress, and b) I cannot function on less than 6 hours of sleep. Hence the frizzing and crying scene.
Notice all of my excuses. I often think my life is one big excuse, comprised of all the reasons why it is ok for me to complain. God, however, is constantly reminding me that this does not sit well with Him. Wednesday, He reminded me again, sprinkling my life with completely undeserved blessings. Hair that worked, an enjoyable first class, a time of singing in the chapel, canceled afternoon classes, a refreshing nap, an encouraging professor, and friends that never cease to make me smile. Finally, I reached the dreaded moment – the poetry field trip I had completely forgotten about until it was painted into the picture on that terrible Tuesday. And trust me, it had caused me to mope and complain (excuse: who wants to listen to poetry on their last night before Spring Break?).
The first stop my English professor, Dr. Belz, insisted on making during our field trip was at Laguna Beach to watch the sun set. In all honesty, I don’t know if I can say I had ever seen a sunset on the beach. But take it from me now, it was amazing. And as I was meandering along the beach back to the car, I recalled the Psalm I had read that morning. Psalm 57 says “I am in the midst of lions…Be exalted, O God,” and “They spread a net for my feet…My heart is steadfast, O God.” At the time I read that, I was really struck by the fact that such contrasting thoughts were juxtaposed next to each other. Dire situations, but praise and trust.
D. Martyn Lloyd Jones reminded me that God often uses small trials in our lives to prepare us for large ones. You would think that knowing this, I would hit midterms and just be ready to jump for joy. Instead, God has my history professor tell me that stress is a part of life and I can’t let my life collapse because I’m not in the best mood or I don’t like the way things are working out. College is just the precursor to the rest of life. Then God sends me off on a night of beach walking, Mexican food eating, and poetry listening in order to get me asking myself, “Why are you so willing to praise God only on the good days?”
So here I am telling you that college is crazy. And life is crazy. And I will probably spend many more mornings as a sobbing mess giving myself motivational pep talks. And I have a very strong feeling that I will not be jumping for joy once finals roll around. But thank goodness for professors who are willing to tell you things like they are, for stiff necks from sleeping on patio furniture, and for beach sunsets. May I someday learn to “take refuge in the shadow of [God’s] wings until the disaster has passed (Ps. 57:1).
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Beloved
I suppose I just can’t help it. It’s Valentines Day, so my thoughts have turned to love. Sitting here in my dorm room, I can see the potted tulips and bouquet of roses placed precariously on my roommate’s desk – gifts from her boyfriend. A sparkly purple card adorns my other roommate’s desk; it came from her mom in the mail yesterday. As glad as I am for the expressions of love they have received, my thoughts have taken a somewhat different turn.
I attended a funeral this morning. The first funeral I have ever attended for anyone under the age of seventy. It was one of the most heart-wrenching things I’ve probably ever experienced. Jennifer Uwarow was my Resident Director last semester, until tests showed that a ravaging cancer had reappeared in her body and she was physically, emotionally, and spiritually broken. This morning I was reminded once again of the testimony she left behind – a testimony of a great, faithful, and loving Savior. Even as Jen was brought daily closer to that moment of death, this was the hope she clung to. And at this moment, my greatest desire is to do nothing but bask in the sweetness of the love of Christ.
These words have remained a presence in the back of mind since the day I read them: “On the whole, God's love for us is a much safer subject to think about than our love for Him” (C.S. Lewis). I am easily discouraged when I consider the love I have for my God. Over Christmas break, I prayed asking Him, “Why do I love you so little?” When I consider that Yahweh himself marked out His plan of redemption, boldly drawing in the crucifixion of His only Son, that His love might drench wretched sinners such as myself, I cannot answer this question. The answer reverberates through my being, but it is so terrible and wonderful a truth it pierces me to the core. I am, and always have been, devastated by sin – dead – and I have, in and of myself, absolutely no ability to love my God.
We are told to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind” (Matt. 22:37), but our weak attempts to love God as He should be loved are like shooting balloons into the sky and hoping they will reach Neptune: they cover only a few feet of that endless stretch and fall deflated to the ground, failures. In the face of such circumstances I believe we have only two choices: we can despair or we can fix our eyes on that infinitely safer subject.
“Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might perhaps dare to die. But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” The truth of these verses is impossible to wrap my mind around. Try as I might to love God as I should, I lie pitifully at His feet, woefully aware of my ungratefulness and ability to be easily wooed by poor, scrawny lovers. Yet even still, my God poured Himself out for me and continues to unwaveringly love me. He loved me when I did not love Him and He loves me now, though I do not love Him as I should. His love for me at this moment is as free, as full, and as passionate as it was as Christ hung on that cross – gasping for breath, suffering for my sin.
C.S. Lewis says, “[God] will give us feelings of love if He pleases. We cannot create them for ourselves, and we must not demand them as a right. But the great thing to remember is that, though our feelings come and go, His love for us does not. It is not wearied by our sins, or our indifference; and, therefore, it is quite relentless in its determination that we shall be cured of those sins, at whatever cost to us, at whatever cost to Him.” How beautiful, how precious is this thought!
Let us treasure the love of God. May it quench our thirsting and satisfy our hunger. But may we never cease to wonder that the Creator of this universe – our holy, magnificent, and glorious God – deigns to call us His beloved. He is ours and we are His. May His love be the only love we ever need.
“And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God” (Eph. 3:17-19).
LOVE (III)
by George Herbert
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning If I lack'd anything.
"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear, I cannot look on thee.
"Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.""And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
I attended a funeral this morning. The first funeral I have ever attended for anyone under the age of seventy. It was one of the most heart-wrenching things I’ve probably ever experienced. Jennifer Uwarow was my Resident Director last semester, until tests showed that a ravaging cancer had reappeared in her body and she was physically, emotionally, and spiritually broken. This morning I was reminded once again of the testimony she left behind – a testimony of a great, faithful, and loving Savior. Even as Jen was brought daily closer to that moment of death, this was the hope she clung to. And at this moment, my greatest desire is to do nothing but bask in the sweetness of the love of Christ.
These words have remained a presence in the back of mind since the day I read them: “On the whole, God's love for us is a much safer subject to think about than our love for Him” (C.S. Lewis). I am easily discouraged when I consider the love I have for my God. Over Christmas break, I prayed asking Him, “Why do I love you so little?” When I consider that Yahweh himself marked out His plan of redemption, boldly drawing in the crucifixion of His only Son, that His love might drench wretched sinners such as myself, I cannot answer this question. The answer reverberates through my being, but it is so terrible and wonderful a truth it pierces me to the core. I am, and always have been, devastated by sin – dead – and I have, in and of myself, absolutely no ability to love my God.
We are told to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind” (Matt. 22:37), but our weak attempts to love God as He should be loved are like shooting balloons into the sky and hoping they will reach Neptune: they cover only a few feet of that endless stretch and fall deflated to the ground, failures. In the face of such circumstances I believe we have only two choices: we can despair or we can fix our eyes on that infinitely safer subject.
“Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might perhaps dare to die. But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” The truth of these verses is impossible to wrap my mind around. Try as I might to love God as I should, I lie pitifully at His feet, woefully aware of my ungratefulness and ability to be easily wooed by poor, scrawny lovers. Yet even still, my God poured Himself out for me and continues to unwaveringly love me. He loved me when I did not love Him and He loves me now, though I do not love Him as I should. His love for me at this moment is as free, as full, and as passionate as it was as Christ hung on that cross – gasping for breath, suffering for my sin.
C.S. Lewis says, “[God] will give us feelings of love if He pleases. We cannot create them for ourselves, and we must not demand them as a right. But the great thing to remember is that, though our feelings come and go, His love for us does not. It is not wearied by our sins, or our indifference; and, therefore, it is quite relentless in its determination that we shall be cured of those sins, at whatever cost to us, at whatever cost to Him.” How beautiful, how precious is this thought!
Let us treasure the love of God. May it quench our thirsting and satisfy our hunger. But may we never cease to wonder that the Creator of this universe – our holy, magnificent, and glorious God – deigns to call us His beloved. He is ours and we are His. May His love be the only love we ever need.
“And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God” (Eph. 3:17-19).
LOVE (III)
by George Herbert
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning If I lack'd anything.
"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear, I cannot look on thee.
"Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.""And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
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