Month: May 2015

WEEP AND HOPE

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Yesterday was Memorial Day. Erik and I went to the Lantern Floating Ceremony near Waikiki.

At the ceremony, people are invited to light a candle on a boat-shaped lantern and launch it out to sea to remember their loved ones. Over 50,000 people were there. Some floated lanterns. Others, like us, came to see the beauty of candlelight dancing on the ocean.

By the time the lingering twilight finally disappeared, there were thousands of lanterns floating on the ocean. Each one was lit for someone who was deeply loved while they walked this earth.

Death is a strange thing. Especially for Christians. It’s bittersweet. We know that the one who has left, if they have accepted Jesus as their Savior, is with Him in a MUCH better place.

And yet we still mourn.

We mourn because there won’t be any more memories. We mourn because we don’t get to be with them, and we mourn because death was never supposed to be a part of life.

We were created in God’s image. Adam and Eve — male and female. We were created to love and serve God and to love and serve one another. We were given the gift of life and it was supposed to be eternal. The tree of life was there to offer never-ending health and, well, life.

But then sin entered into humanity, and with it, death.

And so as we weep and mourn the loss of loved ones, we not only grieve the loss of their life, their love, their hugs and laughter, but we grieve the fact that our world is broken. We are sad because sin exists and because of sin, death exists.

But thankfully, there is hope. God saw the depth of our pain and was filled with love for us — His broken, sinful, evil children. His justice and goodness made it impossible for our sin to be erased, so he made a way for it to be redeemed. He gives us new life not only in this life, but in the one to come.

It is a life that will never end. A life without sin, a life without death. Life as we were created for.

Until that day, we weep and we hope.

SIZING YOURSELF UP

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I have spent much of my life trying to get smaller, both literally and figuratively.

I’m afraid of taking up too much space. Of being a burden. Of being too needy. I want to be small and petite. Cute and beautiful all at once. There are times when I want to fill a room, but I want to fill it with laughter and joy, love, fun and connection. Those things, the essence of goodness in life, are far too difficult to come by. And so instead of chasing after them and creating a way to embrace and enjoy the bigness of life, I focus on being smaller.

I want to avoid conflict and discomfort. That takes up too much space.

Yet at the same time I want to be known. I want people to look in my eyes and know me. To know what I need without me having to ask. I don’t want to have to take up their space, I want them to want to give it to me. I want to create bigness together.

So what would it look like to get “bigger”? What would it be like to tell people what I need and ask for help so that they can get to know me? What would it be like to take up space in their lives? Isn’t that what connection is all about?

One of my deepest desires is to be connected. To have friends and family and community blend together so well that you can’t tell one from the other. To have a life that’s bigger, and fuller. But to do that I think I have to get bigger. I have to take more chances. I have to put myself out there. I have to share my needs. I have to risk being seen and judged as too much, too big, and tossed aside.

And that risk — the fear of what could happen — keeps me longing for smallness. I know it. I can manage it.

The truth is, in some ways I know what it’s like to feel too big. To have people look at you and to tell you you’re too much. Too depressed. Too introspective. Too sensitive. Too emotional.

Too big. Too big! TOO BIG.

Some people in my life have shown me that they don’t have time for me. “Maybe if I was smaller,” I think. “If I could squeeze myself into a little part of their life, maybe then they could still love me.”

But what about the other side? What if I am just the right size? What if I am fearfully and wonderfully made and perfected in Christ just as I am? What if you are too?

What if we all stop trying to get smaller — or bigger— and just learn to be?

WHEN YOUR CHURCH IS SCATTERED

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My husband and I recently left the church where he has been a pastor for the last three and a half years.

It’s been hard. Heartbreaking and gut-wrenching. This church, these people are our community. They are the people we have worshiped with, laughed with, cried with, prayed with and counseled. We have eaten with them, sipped coffee with them, gone on hikes with them and loved them.

Leaving the church has felt like our community has been ripped away. It has left me reeling. It’s not that I don’t think our friends still love us and want to be a part of our life, but it will be different. It is different.

On Sunday we’ll be surrounded by the faces of strangers. We no longer have a church. My husband is a churchless pastor.

As I have been grieving this loss and wondering what God is up to, it hit me how wrong I am. We do have a church. Our church is just scattered.

Our church is in Seattle, Vashon, Kirkland, Gig Harbor, Hawaii and California. It’s in a small town in England and the frozen tundra of Canada — and everywhere in between.

The phone calls, FaceTime sessions, Skype calls and emails remind me that we are not alone in this. We cannot all meet together on Sunday morning, but we are still united.

We are united by the blood of Christ and our love for one another. And we are in good company. The early church was scattered too. The New Testament epistles remind us of this. They are letters, not scripts. They were written encouragements, not whispered in the quiet of a shared song or a long talk over lattes. Paul was far away from people he was ministering to. That’s why he wrote letters. And thank God he did, because now we have them.

I am not saying that there is no purpose or beauty in the local church. Far from it. The book of Acts shows us how important it is to gather together in person. To share prayers and meals. To live life together. I long for the day when we have a local church again. One where we feel like God has called us. One where we belong. But until that day, God is teaching me that church won’t always look like the “church” we are used to.

I have a church and I am so grateful for my church, scattered though it may be, one day we will all be together for all eternity. And until that day, there are text messages, emails, Skype calls, FaceTime sessions and letters. Those things have a beauty all their own. Today I am choosing to be grateful.

NEVER THERE

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While I was on a run this morning, an older man walking his shaggy, gray-haired dog looked at me, smiled and said, “You’re never there.”

I smiled back and tossed out a “hello,” as I kept trudging onward. I was almost “there.” My house was just around the corner. My run almost over for the day.
As my feet carried me a few more steps the realization of what he said hit me. I hadn’t understood him at first, but as his words sank in, I got mad.

“Who does this guy think he is? He doesn’t know why I’m running. He makes it sound like I’m running to something–-or from something. He doesn’t know me. Grrrrr.”

But then after few steps more and a gentle nudge in my spirit, I realized maybe he was on to something.

Maybe this guy has lived enough life to know that no matter where you’re going, once you’re “there,” there’s always somewhere else to go. The “to-do” list never ends. You never actually “arrive.”

Maybe in this moment God was speaking to me. Was this the quiet whisper of His voice, telling me that it’s ok to slow down? Reminding me of the lesson He’s been trying to teach me for decades?

It’s ok to enjoy the ride. Not only is it ok, but I SHOULD.

If i’m never gonna get “there” in this life, then there’s no rush, right?

What would it be like to be in the moment? To breathe deep because I want to, not because I’m out of breath from rushing from one thing to the next.
What if living itself is all the “there” we get this side of eternity? Surely it’s enough. I just don’t let it be.

I’m going to keep running, but hopefully I will do it because I want to, not because I’m rushing. I want to look around more. Walk some. Take in my surroundings and know that wherever I am, I’m already there. And so are you.

Thanks old guy, for the reminder. Maybe you were right after all.

SWEATER WEATHER

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Penguins

The sun is shining brightly. Greens pop and blues run deep. It’s beautiful. The epitome of Hawaii in all her glory. It’s going to be 80. The perfect temperature for hitting the beach, sipping iced lattes and living in slippas.

Looking out my bay window at an endless ocean, you’d have no idea that the seasons change.

To mainlanders, Hawaii has no seasons. It’s endless summer. Once you’ve lived here a few years you pick up on subtle seasonal changes. The plumerias drop their leaves in the winter. The trades die off in the fall. Rain falls a little heavier into the “cooler” months. The night temps dip into the 60s in early spring. The changes are subtle. Imperceptible, if you don’t know Hawaii.

But today, a season changed. It wasn’t gradual. It was sudden. Abrupt. The season of why we came to Hawaii is over.

Today is Erik’s last day at the job he’s had for the past 3.5 years. The job that led us to pack up our home in Seattle, put our cars on a boat and have our dog go through a 4-month rabies vaccination quarantine. Today, that job is over. He will come home, his car full of reminders of an office with loud air conditioning and too many roaches.

Jobs end for people every day. We aren’t unique in that. But what is unique is for us, this wasn’t just a job. It was our life.

Erik is a pastor, and when you’re in ministry, work and life become blurry. Church attendees become friends and friends become family. Coffee dates go deep and tears are sacred. A late night phone call can be a friend checking in or someone desperate for prayer and rescue.

Work/life balance gets fuzzy in the best way possible.

But that also means that on days like this, you wish there was more black and white in the world than grey. You wish that a job was just a job and that walking away from it didn’t also mean walking away from your community.

I know that we are still friends with the people who attend the church. I pray that they will be long-lasting friendships on this earth and long into eternity. Yet I know they will be different. They’ll have to be. We won’t see people at church on the weekends. We won’t be in their Bible studies. We won’t worship with them regularly or run into them at church events. It wouldn’t hurt if we didn’t love them so much. I guess it’s a good problem to have. But I have never welcomed winter. I am a summer girl. I love the warming glow of the sun on my bare shoulders. I love loose sundresses and jumping in the ocean. Winter is cold and wet and grey. I fear that that is the season we are heading into.

I do know that God is good. I do know that He has a plan. I do know that He loves us and wants what it best for us.

I don’t know what that will look like. I don’t know how long it will take for us to catch a glimpse of our next step, of the next season. I don’t know how long the hurt will last. But I do know that the season has changed and now I need a sweater.