Hope: Overpowered but Not Gone...Maybe

What's the opposite of hope? "Not hope"?

Yesterday, at school(not that it doesn't show itself in all facets of my life), "not hope" won. I found myself giving up on hope...hope that people's motivation behind their decisions is real....hope that power and control are not the drivers of criticism or change...hope that next year will be better...hope that the person you feel like always has hope hasn't given up on hope, too. 

I don't want to give up on hope. I want to cling to it. To hold fast to it.  In fact, I feel like I take specific steps to ensure that hope keeps the upper hand. I lost yesterday. At least, if felt like a loss. The thing is, when you give up on hope, it's hard to see the situation as anything BUT a loss. If you have hope, you interpret events/conversations/meetings/people differently. You see that there can be a different outcome. You have hope that it can be better. When you have the opposite of hope (fear? doubt? defeat?), you see nothing but loss. It makes me want to give up. It makes me want to run. It makes me angry and hurt and turns me into a person...well, with no hope.

Before I get all negative, I did experience hope yesterday. I'm pretty sure it was hope. It might have been hope. A few small pieces of hope maybe...from a best friend that allows me to be angry and hurt and ridiculous and then logical and thoughtful and calm-ish, reading words from God that bring reassurance and perspective and wisdom in Ecclesiastics, and a beautiful song by Sara Groves that reminds me that even when fear and defeat seem to overpower hope...really overpower it...maybe hope is not gone. 

For in Him we live and move and have our being

Instead of grading like I planned. Instead of planning out my lessons for tomorrow. Instead of watching mindless episodes of "Friends" or any other television show...tonight...I tried something new.

I have spent the past few hours or so reading and rereading Paul's words to the Athenians in Acts 17. Being an Alumnus from Harding, I'm sure I'm supposed to know a countless amount of information about this passage.  I'm probably supposed to know the background of the culture, which missionary journey he was on at the time, where he was going next, what the "meeting of the Areopagus" exactly is, and how the sermon he preached is supposed to show me how to teach other people about God. I probably took several tests over it.

But tonight, I am meditating on God's revelation of who he is and how he has revealed Jesus to us.

"Men of Athens! I see that in every way you are very religious.  For as I walked around and looked carefully at your objects of worship, I even found an alter with this inscription, TO AN UNKNOWN GOD.  Now what you worship as something unknown I am going to proclaim to you. For the God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by hands  And he is not served by human hands, as if he needed anything, because he himself gives all men life and breath and everything else.  From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth, and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. God did this so that men would see him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. For in him we live and move and have our being. As some of your own poets have said, 'We are his offspring.'  Therefore, since we are God's offspring, we should not think that the divine being is like gold or sliver or stone - an image made by man's design and skill.  In the past God has overlooked such ignorance, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent.  For he has set a day when he will judge the world with justice by the man he has appointed.  He has given proof of this to all men by raising him from the dead."

This week, I have decided to revel in this idea that "for in him we live and move and have our being".

Only, I don't want to just know it.

I want it to seep into my being and consume me.

The Rich Young Ruler and Me

Luke 18:18-23

A certain ruler asked him, "Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?"

"Why do you call me good?" Jesus answered. "No one is good-except God alone. You know the commandments: 'You shall not commit adultery, you shall not murder, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, honor your father and mother.'"

"All these I have kept since I was a boy," he said.

When Jesus heard this, he said to him, "You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have an give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me."

When he heard this, he became very sad, because he was very wealthy.

Jesus has spoken to my heart today. Weird to hear, right? Even weirder (Is that a word?) to say.  I'm going to say it anyway. Because He did.

It's simple really. The man in the story was a good man. He followed all the commands he had been taught since he as a boy. Jesus tells him that if he really wants to know God, he has to sell all his possessions and follow Him. The man leaves because, frankly, he liked Jesus, but he liked his stuff more. His stuff was so important to him. After years of hearing lessons and devotionals about how this is a lesson for all of us, making sure we are willing to give all our possessions up for Jesus if he asked us and after reading books and articles about the shame Jesus put on this man because he was unwilling to give up his wealth, the logical conclusion we're supposed to draw is that everyone should sell everything (or at least the "extra" wealth we don't need to make sure we're comfortable and secure financially) and go follow Jesus.

I don't think this story is to bring shame on the wealthy man. It isn't some universal lesson about how Christians shouldn't be wealthy. I dare say, this story is not about the poor. This story is about Jesus. It is Jesus revealing what gives this man security and purpose. He is exposing this man's identity. I think the real purpose of this story is not money or possessions or even what we hope for. It's about our pride. He asks for us to give up that thing we're so proud of, that thing we believe causes us to matter in the eyes of the world (and ourselves!). Give it up and follow HIM! Give it up and let HIM define who we are.

This story is so much easier to read and think about when it's about wealthy people giving up money. Isn't it? It's so much easier to read when we don't actually have to do anything different, and we "choose" Jesus in our words. I do that. I choose Jesus in my words, and then go right back to serving the thing that controls my thoughts and actions. 

Jesus spoke to my heart today. This story is just another beautiful way Jesus has revealed His purpose for me - to let HIM define me. 

  

Oh, How He Loves Us

God moving people, moves me. How powerful is the love of God, and oh, how it moves me.

On Sunday, I sat in front of a young woman who was absolutely moved by the love of God. Oddly enough, I don't even know her very well, just having casual conversations here and there on the days I was in town.  It was her first Sunday after major surgery to remove cancer. As I stated above, I do not know her very well, so I won't attempt to pretend I can tell her story or know even know how to express her struggle. Sunday morning, however,  the sound of her relishing in the love of God was undeniably moving. I was brought to tears as I listened to her beautiful voice cry out.

It's a mystery how the love of God can bring so many mixed emotions at the same time. I found that while my tears of joy and thankfulness for this young woman were overwhelming, my tears were also somewhat of sadness for the loss of a good friend that was in the same battle.  How great is the love of God that it is big enough and deep enough and wide enough to encompass His people. I am so thankful for the vision of His love from both people - one in life and one in death. Oh, how he loves us.

How He Loves Us by David Crowder Band
He is jealous for me,
Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree,
Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy.
When all of a sudden,
I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory,
And I realize just how beautiful You are,
And how great Your affections are for me.

And oh, how He loves us so,
Oh how He loves us,
How He loves us all.

We are His portion and He is our prize,
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes,
If grace is an ocean, we're all sinking.
So Heaven meets earth like a unforseen kiss,
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest,
I don't have time to maintain these regrets,
When I think about, the way...

He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Oh how He loves.
Yeah, He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves.


* The words and music to this song are amazing. You should listen to it here.

So many times, parts are added up to just be parts.

Have you ever read a book when you already know the ending? It's sort of a hazard of the job for me.  Maybe not a hazard.  Just something that goes with the job. Hazards makes it seem bad. It's actually the opposite.  I rather enjoy rereading books and stories.  The ending of books or stories has been on my mind recently, specifically with the story of Jesus. One thing that strikes me about the story of Jesus is that I'm supposed to know it. I mean, it's a story I've been reading all my life. At least, I've been reading the same parts all my life. Bits and pieces. Over and over again. Not only do I read the story, but different people read it to me. Bits and pieces. Over and over again. I study it; I listen to other people talk about the pieces they have studied.  I talk about the story with other people who know about the story, too. Bits and pieces. Over and over again. It's a story we know the ending to. At least I know part of the ending.

"A painting is more than the sum of its parts." This is a quote from one of my favorite young adult books. The father in the story says this to his daughter, Juli, to help her understand the value of seeing who people really are by looking deeper.  He is, obviously, a painter. He goes on to explain that a cow by itself is just a cow, and the meadow by itself is just grass and flowers, and the sun peeking through the trees is just a beam of light, but put them all together and you have magic.

I want magic.

Bits and pieces. Over and over again. I feel like I have stared at, studied and talked about, poured into, and struggled to only see a beam of light or a meadow all my life. I've seen the parts, and I've added them together. I knew that I wasn't seeing the whole painting, but I couldn't figure out how to express what I was missing.

Back to the ending thing. I think the ending has to do with the way you view the parts. If the parts are just added up as parts, it only yields parts. Confusing? Maybe. I don't want part of the ending.

I want magic.

 

"Aaron" painting

I went to visit Aaron (Mark and Diane) this weekend. The original purpose of my visit was to be "child care" while Mark and Diane went out for their Valentine's Day dinner/surprise concert. As soon as Aaron found out I was coming, he asked me if we could paint. OF COURSE! I immediately started scouting out Pinterest to find some cute ideas. We had SO MUCH FUN! Aaron decided that we should hang his painting on his bedroom door so everyone knows it's his room. :-)

Enjoy.

"Not playing" is never an option.

I found my clarinet at my parent’s house over Thanksgiving. My mom, somehow, was able to talk me into helping her get all 20 tubs of Christmas decorations down from the storage area above their garage, and there it was. Just sitting there. It’s funny how something as simple as a musical instrument can ignite old memories that sometimes feel like they just happened yesterday and at other times they feel like they belonged to someone else. Almost as if I only heard them as a story.

As I opened the case, I tried to remember the last time I played. I couldn’t. Sometime in college. Marching band. Sophomore year. Fall of 2002. Almost 10 years ago.

Maybe I can remember.

Right before Christmas break at Harding, marching band was over, and we were practicing for our Christmas concert to be preformed in chapel. I wasn’t even sure I was going to play because I had just had my wisdom teeth removed, not exactly conducive to playing an instrument, but “not playing” wasn’t exactly an option.

Instead of a memory, maybe it's one big metaphor for my life. The concert went on as planned, not necessarily dependent on my presence. 10 years later at 11:40pm it doesn't seem to have made a huge difference in the world. No one remembers that concert but me, I guess. There were much better musicians in that band than I could ever pretend to be, my my wonderful skills as a clarinetist weren't exactly critical. And yet, 10 years later at 11:40pm, this memory floods my brain, with the resounding theme that seems to have stuck with me.

You always show up. You always play. After all, not playing is never an option.

Right?