Faith Archives - The Messy Middle

When Resurrection Comes Slowly

Jesus died.

But death was not the end. Death could not hold him. Hallelujah!

Rising from the dead, he set us free from the sin that so easily entangles (Hebrews 12:1), we are no longer captives (Luke 4:18), and we are joint-heirs with Christ (Romans 8:17).

Jesus’ death and resurrection informs many of our core beliefs. And this is right and good.

But look at these examples, what do you notice?

Jesus died on Friday. On Sunday he rose from the dead, never to taste death again!

Lazarus died. Four days later, when even his sister was concerned about the stench, Jesus asked for the stone to be removed. “Lazarus, come out!” And the dead man came out.

Jairus asked Jesus to heal his dying daughter. She died. His friends said, “Why bother the teacher.” Jesus said, “Do not be afraid. Just believe.” He went with Jairus to his house and said to his daughter, “Little girl, I say to you, get up.” Immediately she stood up and began to walk around.

That’s what I’m talking about! Death over life. That is our Jesus! That is the power of our God! That is the story of resurrection.

But.

But I notice in all three examples that at most, it took four days and, in every case, resurrection occurs in a moment. Someone was dead, now they are not.

I believe Jesus, Lazarus, and Jairus’ daughter died and experienced resurrection. Even though it is not the norm, I believe God can raise people from the dead even today. I believe in resurrection. But instantaneous resurrection is not my story.

I live in the northern hemisphere so winter is waning. I was thinking about this post as I pulled up to my home, noticing the grass along the edges of the yard. What looks like a big-ol carpet of brown was beginning to have splashes of green.

Green!

Can I tell you how much my soul prefers green grass to brown? I bet your soul is the same.

I want Jesus to say to me, “Amy, do not be afraid, just believe.” And then stop by my home for a cup of tea and a chat. On his way in, he notices the grass and says, “Little grass, I say to you, be green!” And in an instant, it is, because He’s Jesus and if He tells you to be green, and alive, you can’t help it.

But when I review my life, this is more how resurrection has gone.

I have experienced death. Death of dream, a relationship, a hope, a project, a loved one. Something was taken from me and I experience loss and confusion and anger. I thought I would be THERE doing THAT. I planned that my life would look like THIS and it doesn’t. I assumed that my training meant certain doors would open, but instead they slammed in my face.

So, like you, I’ve tasted death.

Jesus has said to me, “Amy, do not be afraid, just believe.” Like Jairus, he has come home with me. But unlike Jairus, when he sees the death I have experienced, he has said, “Let’s make a cup of tea and sit in the front yard and watch new life return.”

I have tasted resurrection too, but it has not been instantaneous. It has been slow. It has taken months or years. Sometimes the old dead thing has come back to life in a new form. Other times, something different but good has come along. Life has come after death.

I see it! I celebrate it! I am humbly grateful for it.

At this time of year, we tell of His death and celebrate resurrection. Hallelujah!

If you are in a season of sitting with Jesus in your front yard, barely able to look at Him because the new life he is offering you is slow in coming, please don’t lose heart.

The stories we tell at this time of year can inadvertently confuse “real” with “fast.”

Resurrection is real. But sometimes it is slow. Jesus has not abandoned you, he’s waiting with you, anticipating the grass to change blade-by-blade.

(A version of this first appeared on Velvet Ashes)

Ending Chapters, Faith, Personality

Turning 50: When the odometer on your life turns over a new decade

I see my life as a series of peaks with each peak representing ten years. It could be because I am from Colorado, famous for mountains and snow, or it could be this time of year in the Northern Hemisphere, but I see these peaks blanketed in beautiful powder snow.

When a new “zero” comes around, I picture myself at the top of one of the peaks. I am able to see the decade behind me and the picture my footsteps made the in the snow. Step-by-step 30 becomes 31 and 32 and 33 and the years pass until my final step on that peak is taken.

Often I have a different perspective when I look back and survey the decade behind me than I did at the in the middle of the steps I took. Parts are fun to review, others, frankly I care less about with time; on occasion, I can see how good came out of seasons that I never could have anticipated good when I was in the middle of them.

Then I turn and look at the fresh snow before me—the next decade I will live. I wonder how my story will continue? How will it change? What do I hope to see as I look back when I reach the next peak?

Not all of my thoughts are deep. I wonder if this will finally be the decade that my beloved Denver Broncos (American football) and Kansas Jayhawks (the most amazing university in America) will each be champions in the same year. That, that my friends will be a year to behold!

I do not have any clear memories of turning 10 or 20. Age 30 found me celebrating in Chengdu (China) and I rang 40 in by “making” my community in Beijing come to a murder mystery dinner in the midst of all the busyness of the holidays. I remember turning 30 and 40, looking back at my footsteps of my life in the snow. In many ways, my 20s and 30s were nothing like what I had anticipated when it came to specific plans I thought might unfold. But in ways that matter, they went “according to plan” – grow, invest, enjoy, laugh, befriend.

I reached another peak last week. I am at the beginning of a fresh decade. The landscape of white in front of me. It is my year of jubilee. I am 50! (and I am 50? What in the world!)

I am aware that my dad only saw two peaks beyond where I stand. I am not guaranteed to see even that many.

You are also at the beginning, maybe not of a decade, but of a fresh year—be it in the Church Year or the calendar year. The snow is freshly fallen and you have yet to take many steps.

The theme last week at Velvet Ashes was “fresh,” what freshness do you need as you travel through 2018?

Do you need in your home, in your work, within yourself:

Fresh peace

Fresh hope

Fresh love

Fresh faith

A fresh sense of anticipation

A fresh perspective

A fresh mindset

A fresh understanding of God himself

A fresh relationship with your health

A fresh understanding of what it means to serve cross-culturally

Fresh joy!

Fresh communication skills

Fresh cultural insight

~~~

“Then He who sat on the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’” (from Revelation 21)

Behold.

Savor that word. Let it roll around on your tongue. Behold.

Though this verse is about the new heaven and the new earth, we know God is in the business of making all things new. As you stand at the mini-peak of this new year, behold! God can give you fresh hope, fresh love, fresh joy, fresh long-suffering.

What do you need God to make fresh in you and your life? I said that my goals are to “grow, invest, enjoy, laugh, befriend”—what are the overall goals of your life?

A version of this first appeared on Velvet Ashes. Image by Karen Huber.

Faith, Messier than normal

Our day is coming

I write monthly for A Life Overseas. ALOS’ subtitle is: the missions conversation. The following post is addressed to missionaries, but it also applies to churches, Christian non-profits, and Christian organizations.

~~~

People, I have been praying for several days about what to share this month. Every idea I had was . . . fine. But in none of the ideas did I sense God say, “That. That is the post for this month.”

Until this one.

We are going to talk about sexual impropriety, so if you need to take a pass because this post might trigger traumatic flashbacks, please do. Peace be with you my friend.

It seems the U.S. is facing a time of reckoning when it comes to men in power, female subordinates, and sexual impropriety. Actors, directors, sports casters, politicians, chefs, news reporters. The list goes on. Some of the men are truly scummy, some seem to be good guys who have one area of their lives very much hidden and in the dark.

While this reckoning is long overdue, in every incident I’ve seen on the news and social media there is one common refrain: So and so is facing allegations.

I applaud every victim who is able to tell her (or his) story. I also applaud those who have not shared; you live with your story every day, it is yours to choose when to share.

Each story has broken because a victim came forward. Not once has the accused come forward first and said, “I am going to take a leave from my job, go to counseling, learn how to handle my power, and work on making amends.”

As the numbers grow, I keep wondering “Who is going to model what healing, restoration, and redemption look like?” Which network or profession is going to be the first to take a risk and after a person has done the hard and necessary work, allow them a place at the table.

This is my hope for us as a community of Christ followers. We know sexual impropriety exists on the mission field. We will not get a pass on this reckoning.

But we can get ahead of it.

During my years in China, I heard almost every way a person could sexually sin. Not all situations required drastic measures, but all required taking the situation seriously and having frank discussions with plans for addressing it. In lives where it felt like the bottom fell out, often the person (and family) needed to leave the field for a season. But that was not the end of the story! With the hard work of excavating the soul, identity, and personal power, change and even returning to the field occured.

If you are currently embroiled in sexual impropriety, it will come to light. I do not know when. I do not know how. But if you are hoping your story won’t be found out, that is a fool’s bet.

Tell someone today. You are carrying a secret that will take more of your time, energy, and relationships until it steals everything. Christ died so that you no longer have to be a slave. Be a part of showing the world the world that not only did Christ come to save “them over there;” he also came to save actors, directors, politicians, athletes, news reporters, and you.

If you are the victim of sexual impropriety within your organization, find someone safe and report it. I am sorry for your experience.

If you are in leadership in your organization, please create space to talk as a leadership team about the subject of sexual impropriety in your organization. To not put this on your “to-do” list. Send an email right now to get the ball rolling. With others in power ask: how are we going to foster discussions within our organization? What resources can we offer to people? What is our plan when these situations start to be reported in our organization?

This post isn’t about resources. It is a warning.

Our day of reckoning is coming. Let’s get ahead of it.

My hope is that it is also a day of redemption.

This may be an odd Christmas post. But isn’t this why Christ came?

God with us—even in this messy world he loves dearly.

(Resources welcome in the comments.)

Faith, Holiday, Just for fun

Which gift do you have? (I may have made one up)

Next Tuesday evening a local writer’s group I am a part of—Writers on the Rock—will come to our house for a Christmas party. We meet monthly, and while there is a social aspect to our meetings—we are after all, people—the time is spent with the guest speaker and the topic for the evening.

We decided in December that we would rather have a party than a meeting.

All sounds good, yes? Yes! Emphatically yes.

But.

You sensed a but coming, right?

To explain my “but” a bit of background will help. One of the ba-ziillion aspects of living in community I miss from my life in China is the ability to be a part of a community without having to actually host out of my own space. For about ten years I lived in a building that was part apartments, part guest house, and part office space. While it was a lot to require of one space and at times, this part clashed with that part—oh say, when I just wanted to be home, and a guest needed to borrow something out of my kitchen and then did not pick up on my non-verbal cues to take the pan and GET OUT OF MY HOME :).

For asking so much of a building, really it held enough space for each of the callings.

Living in a space that holds three callings at once taught me a vital lesson about myself.

I do not have the gift of hospitality. I have the gift of gusetpitality.

I love being with people. I enjoy parties and movies and events. Want someone up for a meal? I’m your gal.

But I want to do it in your space, not mine.

Alas, the bible doesn’t list guestpitality as one of the revered gifts for the edification of the body, but I think it should. All those who host, need people like me to host.

Back to the party next Tuesday that will be at our house for people I hold dear—my fellow writers. In November’s meeting I shared that the party would be at my house, and that I don’t have the gift of hospitality, instead my gifts are more in the organizing realm (thankfully, the bible values people who lead and cast vision and organize! See 1 Timothy 3. So, I’m not total dead weight on the Body of Christ!).

Thankfully, they know. And when I said the space will be festive and I’ll provide something to drink, but if they want food, they need to bring it, they know I mean it :). It’s good when we can be honest about who we are and what we can offer to each other.

One of the activities we might do if chit chatting isn’t enough is to write the Christmas story in eight words. Here’s one of my attempts:

Hope born (by Amy Young)

The end is sure. The middle still messy.

Try your hand at one in the comments.

And whether you have the gift of hosting or the gift of guesting, may this month be one of connecting with people . . . even if you tell them they need to bring their own food!

Want to read more about my life in China? You can in Love, Amy: An Accidental Memoir Told in Newsletters From China

Book, Faith

Waiting, Waiting, Waiting {God do you care?}

Hi friends, last week I had a chance at A Life Overseas to talk with my friend Tanya about her new book. I first met Tanya when I lived in China and we have been friends ever since. I don’t want you to miss out on this interview because it combines so many of my loves: friends, faith, and books. You’ll notice it is geared towards folks serving overseas, but I double dog dare you to find you can’t relate at all to my conversation with Tanya :). If you’re looking for an advent book, wait no further. I love this book so much my small group is going through it and I’m teaching an advent Sunday School class. Without further ado, I bring you one of the loveliest people I know . . .

Tanya Marlow author of Those Who Wait: Finding God In Disappointment, Doubt, And Delay. Years ago Tanya asked me to guest post for her God and Suffering series. (That series, by the way, is a gold mine.) Though we have never met in person, you can see why I’m drawn to Tanya, she do

Tell us a bit about your background. What did you dream your life would be like?

I was a typical good-Christian-girl, wanting to live my life for God and serve God in full-time Christian ministry. As a kid, I thought my calling was in cross-cultural work overseas. (This may have been because it was viewed as the ‘highest calling’ in Christian circles, with maximum holiness points. Although my motives were relatively pure in wanting to serve God, they may have been tinged with little compassion-competitiveness….!)

I didn’t end up overseas, but by my twenties, I was happy. I was living my dream of working fulltime as a Christian minister, lecturing in Biblical Theology, happily married to someone also in Christian ministry.

Then chronic illness struck me, and my life was turned upside down.

How has the whole issue of waiting featured in your life?

In 2010, I gained a baby and a disability. I have Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME), an autoimmune condition which affects every cell in my body, like a giant faulty battery. Before, I was active and fit – now I can barely walk around the house, and need to lie in bed 21 hours a day. Before, I was seeing people all the time, speaking and pastoring: now my ministry has morphed into the few words I can tap out from my bed in a week.

There’s no real treatment for ME, and the illness is underfunded and under-researched. There’s a very slim possibility of full recovery, and I could deteriorate further, like so many other bedbound ME patients.

A new Oscar-tipped documentary, Unrest, tells the story of what it’s like to live with ME. Your life becomes an eternal semi-colon, stuck on pause while the world continues around you.

I wait for improvement, I wait for deterioration. I’m stuck in the middle, living in uncertainty.

For seven years, I have grieved my old life. Often I have felt laid aside and rejected, and I’ve railed at God for my new prison.

It’s been hard – excruciatingly hard at times – but I’ve discovered something of God’s hidden kindness in barren places.

Why do you think the issue of waiting is particularly pertinent for people living overseas?

Although I never quite made it to overseas work (and ended up marrying a Church of England vicar in my native Britain), I still have the most respect for those in that sector, and have long been an enthusiastic supporter of those called to serve abroad.

To be in cross-cultural work is to be in-between, always. A life overseas is a continuous state of waiting:

to feel settled,
to return home,
to be able to understand the language instead of feeling stupid,
to stop crying at night from homesickness,
to feel like an intelligent person again who has something to offer society,
for the kids to be happy,
for fruit to show
for letters and emails to arrive
for the money to come through
for a home and place to belong.

Waiting is hard. To be in a liminal, in-between state for a short time is discomfiting and exhausting. To be in a season of waiting for decades can be soul-crushing.

Because Those Who Wait is honest about the reality and discomfort of waiting, I hope it can be a source of encouragement for those who feel exhausted with living in an in-between state.

Why choose the four heroes that you did? Why not others? What drew you to these four?

I was drawn to the liturgical season of Advent, particularly the lightning of the Advent candles.

The first candle stands for the Patriachs. I chose a ‘matriarch’, Sarah. Through her story, we deal with disappointment and bitterness, waiting for joy and fulfilled promises.

The second candle represents the Prophets, so I chose Isaiah. We rarely think of him as a person, rather than just a prophetic mouthpiece. I wanted to explore the personal cost of his truth-telling, and through that how we with delay and frustration as we wait for justice and peace in our land.

John the Baptist is the next candle. Through his story, we explore our struggle with doubt as we wait to live out our life’s calling.

And Mary, mother of Jesus’ story is the story of all humanity – dealing with disgrace and isolation as we wait for Jesus’ coming.

Advent is a season that celebrates and marks the discomfort of waiting, as we consider how the saints waited for Jesus’ appearance, and how we long for this world to be restored at Jesus’ second coming.

Advent gives us permission to name our deepest longings, and lament that this world is not as it should be. Those Who Wait can be read at any point, but the Advent season really speaks to our waiting journey, and the book is structured in 24 short chapters. Many readers of Those Who Wait are saving their books to savour through Advent.

I wanted to explore these issues through story, like an engaging novel, because it’s through re-entering the story God can speak to our souls in new ways. It’s always good to remember that our revered Christian heroes are actually human – and the Bible is more honest than we are about the struggle of waiting.

Which section did you enjoy writing most?

Like your own children, you’re not supposed to have favourite characters. (But mine’s John the Baptist.)

In any other period of history he would have been revered as THE prophet of God – but he was overshadowed by his cousin, then waited for years in prison before his traumatic death at the hands of Herod.

Where was God in his waiting and suffering? This is the question that drove me. What really surprised me was the kindness of God to John – and to us. Through writing Those Who Wait, I discovered that God is in the waiting with us, groaning with us, being merciful in unexpected ways, if we can only pause to spot it.

What is your hope for this book?

My hope is that churches, organisations and small groups can meet around this book (there are reflective exercises, group questions and even six Bible studies), and that through the journey they will be able to work through their own discomfort, disappointment or doubt that accompany seasons of waiting.

For people long-jaded by the same old sermons and Bible stories, I hope it will reignite a passion for the honesty and dynamism of the Bible..

Most of all, I pray that readers will encounter God in these pages and find it transformational. May it bring perspective, purpose and empathy for weary hearts, and may God always meet us in the waiting place. This is my prayer.

Tanya, thanks for sharing a bit of your journey as an author and Christian with us.

Over to you, dear reader. What are you waiting for? Which of the four Biblical heroes can you relate to now? Leave a comment and you might win a copy of Tanya’s book. Happy Thanksgiving. I am thankful for you.

Winners will be notified by Sunday.

Faith, Relationships

The Invitation from Jesus When Life is Chaos

It was the pillow detail that stopped me.

It is a familiar tale.

After a full day of teaching a crowd by a lake, Jesus said, “Let’s go to the other side.” So, Jesus and the disciples climbed into a boat and headed out. A storm came up. The disciples, capable fishermen, familiar with water, woke Jesus screaming over the squall, “Do you not care about us. At all?!” Jesus got up, told the storm to settle down, and then in the eerie quiet said, “Why were you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” Terrified, the disciples asked each other, “Who is this? Even the weather obeys him.”

I noticed the cushion in Mark’s gospel. “Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion.” (Mark 4:38)

How many times have I heard or read about Jesus and the storm and never noticed the cushion? This cushion has grabbed my holy imagination as neither Matthew nor Luke mention it.

The theme this week at Velvet Ashes is Chaos. And what is chaos but the unexpected storm? The paralyzing fear “that the waves will sweep over the boat” (Matthew) or that you are “swamped and in great danger” (Luke).

Where is Jesus in the chaos? Sleeping. On a pillow.

In the past, when I read this story I identified with the disciples. In the midst of chaos, I can bail water, hustle, and scream with the best of them. But then Jesus said, “What if the pillow isn’t just for me? It is for you too. Will you join me on the cushion when chaos churns?”

It seems absurd, doesn’t it? It is fine for Jesus to sleep during chaos; he is, after all, Jesus. Jesus kept pushing me, as he does when he is making a point. “It was not God asleep, it was the very human form, the man Jesus, asleep on the cushion. Calm can be a human response to chaos.”

Several weeks later I was texting with Kimberly Todd and she threw in this detail, “I’m memorizing the calm Psalm (131).”

You can guess which word caught my attention. I texted back that I would join her even though I had not heard it called the calm Psalm before. “I think I may have just made that up. Smiley emoticon.” I think God is reinforcing his heart for us in chaos. A few days later Kimberly texted me a link to listen to the Psalm sung (listen here) and now I listen almost daily to the calm Psalm.

The Revised Standard Version calls Psalm 131 “A song of quiet trust.” It is part of the songs of ascent and was written by David.

¹My heart is not proud, Lord,
my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me.
²But I have calmed and quieted myself,
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child I am content.
³Israel, put your hope in the Lord
both now and forevermore.
NIV

The story of Jesus and the storm and Psalm 131 have been sitting together in my soul. Jesus calmed and quieted the storm and then he asked the disciples why they were afraid. Did they have so little faith? David calmed and quieted himself and asked Israel to put their hope in the Lord.

Both mention calm and quiet.

Both point to faith—hope—in the Lord.

Both create space for chaos, be it an unexpected storm or matters that are too great for us to understand.

Both show that calm can be a response to chaos.

Mark could have easily left out the cushion. Like Matthew or Luke, he could have simply said, “Jesus was sleeping” which would have still stood out as an unusual response to a violent storm. But he added the detail about the cushion.

David tells us he has calmed and quieted himself.

Too often, we think we need the storm to stop for us to be quieted and calm. But part of the good news Jesus came to proclaim is that external circumstances do not have to dictate internal responses. Of course we will still be influenced by life. We will be rocked by the storms. Jesus did not levitate in the boat, separated from the reality of the storm around him.

Having emotions in chaotic situations is good and a normal response.

Dealing with chaotic situations is good and a normal response.

Being calm in chaotic situations is also good and a normal response.

Jesus is asking you, “Will you join me on the cushion when chaos churns?”

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A version of this first appeared on Velvet Ashes. Karen Huber designed the image.

Ending Chapters, Faith, Messier than normal

Unlikely Containers Holding Your Story

Years ago, standing in our parent’s basement one of my sisters wondered what it would be like to deal with all of our dad’s paperwork. While not a hoarder in other areas, every piece of paper the man had touched through his life, he kept.

In that moment, the Lord gave me this insight: All this paper is more than paper, it is the container of your dad’s story.

Tax records going back decades were not kept in case of being audited. No, they were kept as a record. A record that said, “I was here, I took care of my family, I held a job, I gave to my church and charities. I invested myself in what matters in this world.” I can tell you this is not what my tax records mean to me because I do not keep my story in tax records.

Oddly, though a non-car person, my story is held, in part, by the cars I have owned.

As a college graduation present, my parents got me a car. It was love at first sight! She was a red Dodge Shadow and had an air spoiler and a strip down her side. In sixth grade I was cast as Margot Lane in a radio play about The Shadow; so, her name was Margot.

My education program was completed with a year of student teaching and graduate classes. Margot drove me out to Perry Middle School in rural Kansas. We had our first near death experience along those roads. She drove me to South Junior High where I learned to love teaching Algebra. And from South Junior High we hurried to the University of Kansas where I taught ESL to students from around the world as I completed my Master’s Degree.

During the summers we spent hours together driving home to Denver. And then hours apart as she sat in a parking lot while I taught English and fell in love with China. After several years of teaching in Kansas and summers in China, Margot watched as my dad helped load a U-Haul to take my worldly possessions back to Denver to live for two years in my sister’s basement.

Dad headed off to Denver and Margot and I hit the road for a detour through Wichita. A dear friend had donated a kidney to her brother and I wanted to visit her one last time before I moved to China.

Because I was only going to China for two years, it seemed silly to sell her. So I didn’t.

I do not know where my story would have been stored if I had sold her. I am also not sure when she became the keeper of my story. All I know is that she did. Every time I returned to the U.S. she was there to drive me around and provide me with a sense of independence.

In the blink of an eye, nine years passed.

I returned to the U.S. on a study leave. Margot and I were united again. And again she drove me to school, to visit friends, to speak at churches. She heard me sing and bore silent witness to the tears I shed in the months leading up to another goodbye.

In the blink of an eye, three years passed.

I returned to China. My beloved Margot sat once more, waiting for me.

Whenever I returned to Denver, she was there. She provided me the gift of coming and going at will. But then one summer, it was obvious that Margot was aging and the time had come to do the unthinkable.

No one would have paid her true value and I could not bear to have her underappreciated. I called the local rescue mission and explained I had a car to donate. We set up an appointment for me to turn over the title, I had only one stipulation: You cannot take her until I have left for China. I cannot bear to see her drive away.

The pain cut so deep, it went beyond reason. I might have given my left arm to be able to keep her. And that’s when I hit me.

Margot held my story.

I loved living overseas. I thrived. But every now and then as I aged the twinge would come when I thought of siblings and peers who had houses and cars and other “normal” markers of adulthood. I had a passport full of stamps, yes. But I had nothing tangible to point to that indicated “Here is an adult. Here is a ‘real person.’”

Margot had been with me through my 20s and 30s. She was the one constant in a sea of change. While I lived a more nomadic existence, packing up after each year in China (another story for another time), at age 30 having life rhythms I had had at twenty, I would say to myself, “Don’t worry, I am a real adult, I own a car.”

Last week all of this flooded back.

Four years ago I moved back to the U.S. and bought another car. Much to everyone’s shock, after insisting on only buying red computers, red this, red that. She was blue. As a Honda Fit it seemed only fitting that she be called Fiona.

Cutting to the chase, she was pummeled in a colossal hail storm in May. Last week she was deemed totaled. This had not occurred to me when I casually dropped her off the end of August. On the phone with the insurance who went over the details and what I would be paid and steps I need to take, she casually asked if I needed to get an any personal items out of the car before she was reclaimed at the repair place. Of course I do you idiot. (Only part said out loud.)

I still own nothing but a car as a sign of adulthood. And now that which held my story for the last four years, is no longer mine.

My story will go on. God at work in and through me, to be sure.

But I am left wondering who will keep the story now? And why can the cost of the call sneak up? Will Fiona’s new owner know what she is capable of?

Love, Amy is on sale today for only $5 on Kindle because Love, Amy reminds me of Margot. It is a privilege to share these stories.

It may not be taxes, paper, or cars, but in his mercy, God uses ordinary things of this world to help hold your story. What is it for you?

A version of this first appeared on A Life Overseas.

Faith, Just for fun

Marching Bands and Missionaries: Same-Same

(Hey friends! Robin Reads has the Kindle version of Looming Transitions on sale for .99 TODAY, so I put the Looming Transitions Workbook on sale for $1 for 24 hours. Amy)

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This truth hit me smack between the eyes.

I didn’t see it coming. I’m not sure I like it. (Hello, one seems fun but maybe a bit shallow and the other purposeful, deep, you know, important.)

But the truth is marching bands and missionaries are basically the same.

It is marching band camp season in the US. With an oldest niece as the drum major and a second niece is in the percussion section (her first year), let’s just say that the insight marched up to me.

Here is how marching bands and missionaries are basically the same

1. Regional flavors exist. Here is the U.S. it turns out that band in Iowa, Colorado, and Texas are, um, not the same. Mission work in Ghana, Thailand, and Brazil are, um, not the same.

2. The whole is made up of parts. Like other bands, marching bands are divided into sections. So, sometimes the flutes are off by themselves practicing their little fluty hearts out. Other times, the entire band is together working on their show. You, dear missionary, may be a part of a team, a city team, a region, and maybe even a much larger organization. If you get together for annual or bi-annual meetings, it’s kind of like seeing the show that God is working out through your different efforts.

3. The work is same-same, but different. Every year the marching band learns a new show. They do not pull out the show from the year before and dust it off. No, they learn a completely new show. Now, they are, for the most part, playing the same instruments, wearing the same outfits, and marching with the same marching techniques. Here is where missions can learn from marching bands: are you working on a new show? Or are you pulling out last year’s show? Worse yet, have you been playing the same show for the last four years. If you are bored, of course check with the Holy Spirit, but perhaps, you’ve been putting new wine in old wine skins, so to speak.

4. New members come each year. The nature of a marching band is that the commitment is four years, so that means every year there are newbies in with oldies. There are those who are familiar with what they are doing with those who are just learning. There are those who have never marched before and learning to march is actually harder than it looks. We are in a season of welcoming folks new to the field. It is exciting but,

5. Getting everyone’s feet going up at the same time and height takes a lot of practice. You do about 10 steps over and over. Most common word heard in this phase? “Reset!” Oh that everyone just got it right away. Instead, you reset and do it again. Which leads me to . . .

6. It can be less glamorous than it appears. What do most people see? Your marching band performance. Costumes, props, music, precision. What do they not come to watch? The three hours you were out on the practice field where you might spend a whole morning on 20 seconds of the show. When it comes to missions, what do most people hear about? The dramatic, the annoying (hello visas, I’m talking about you), the moving. Which can perpetuate the myth that everything we do is so fascinating we are basically floating through life.

7. Growing pains. Bands do not stay the same size year after year. Three years ago, the band was made up of 40 members. (Side note: it is impressive that a small band can produce a show as impressive as a band with hundreds. Size isn’t the key factor, committed members is.) Obviously this is a small marching band. This year, there are 70 members. Exciting? Yes. But that means the majority haven’t been a part of the band for more than one year. In a few years it could grow back to 50 or so. Bands do not stay the same size, and chances are neither has your organization or the number in your country of service.

8. The curse of history. Want to know who gave my drum major niece the most problems a few days during band camp? The returning members.

Stop and pause on that one for a moment.

They have won state for five years in a row. They had a beloved band director retire over a year ago. Last year was the first year for the new (and talented) new director. There was a bit of bemoaning the good old days (“Why did you bring us out here to starve? We had it better in slavery in Egypt!.)

9. The blessing of history. With returning members and a history of state championships, the band isn’t starting from scratch every year. Instead they are standing on the shoulders of those who have gone before. They are adding to a story that started before them and will continue after they graduate.

10. In the end, it is worth it. Both marching bands and missions are about something bigger. Something that is living and dynamic. Something that pushes you to the limit physically without guarantees of glory. Something that offers a common purpose, fellow sojourners, and the chance to be a part of something that might not look like much on the ground, but the view from above? Now, that is something to behold.

Were you in a band? What did playing in a band teach you about missions? What instrument did you play?

This first appeared on A Life Overseas

Faith, Personality

Using my free pass

*I apologize if you get this emailed to you two days in a row. I transferred servers yesterday (blah, blah computer talk) after posting this and then this post disappeared. The only solution was to repost it. But from here on out, blog problems I’ve been having should be solved. And the crowds rejoiced!

When I was a junior high math teacher each student received a “free pass” on the first day of the quarter. The pass was theirs to use when they were not able to get their homework done. I didn’t care the reason, if they had run out of time, had a late night at a sporting event, or simply forgot to do their homework, the pass spared me as their teacher from having to listen to at least a little bit of the junior high drama.

I had some of the students for eight quarters in a row and here is where it got interesting, Without fail, a few of the kids used the pass the very next day. The very next day! What?! Why wouldn’t you want to save it? (You can clearly see my wiring).

Others used it sprinkled throughout the quarter.

A few saved the free pass to the very last day of the quarter and used it like a veteran poker player who was getting away with something.

But a few—without fail—never used the pass.

Responsibility and time management skills are admirable. And no doubt those kids probably went on to become capable and dependable employees.

In many ways I can relate to those kids. What if this is the one math assignment that if I don’t do I will become so lost I’ll fail the test and then my grade will be tanked for this quarter?! I better do it.

A few nights ago I was watching a rerun of Major Crimes and the teenage character Rusty Beck said with disgust after he beat a chess opponent, “You call yourself a specially trained operative, but you only think of two moves ahead of you when you play.”

Lightbulb moment.

Those who live life playing too many moves ahead never use their free pass. That which is a useful skill in chess can hamper you if taken too far in life. It is too risky to stop and smell the roses because you never know what will happen if you lift off of the gas pedal.

I am finding myself in a season of few words.

After the words flowing effortlessly for several years, I sit here wondering what to say. I have ideas, I have thoughts, but I don’t have the drive to put them down. The words I do have are going to Velvet Ashes (especially the book club.Click here to see a list of all the books we’ve read) and A Life Overseas (this ismy most recent post). In one writer’s group, my goal for the summer has been not to start a new book now that Love, Amy released. I actually had to make that my goal! Forging ahead is second nature to me.

Using my free pass and trusting that I will not starve and be homeless when I am old is not.

But I sense God sitting at the far side of the lake, smiling at me, asking me to join Him. Will I use the free pass and trust that if I write here a little bit less, it will all be okay in the end?

I’ll be back for the end of the Summer Reading Challenge. Here is a pro-tip for free: feeling behind? Read a graphic novel. I read four in the time it would have taken to read one non-graphic novel :). So, when you see my numbers later this month, don’t be too impressed. Ha! Graphic novels are good summer reading. August 17th is still a ways off, you’re not too late.

This is me, using my free pass. Apparently I am drawn to animals.

See you in a few weeks :).

Amy

How about you? When teachers gave you a free pass, did you use it right away? Never? On the last day? How does your wiring influence the free passes life offers us?

Faith, Personality

HALT-B: I don’t do all that well with tired

I learned about HALT-B in some class. You can easily tick it off on your fingers:

Hungry
Angry
Lonely
Tired
or Bored

HALT-B stands for things that can lead us to make poor choices. Poor choices can lead to sin and distance and shame and regret. While none of us are at our best when we are hungry-angry-lonely-tired-or-bored, some will be easier to roll with than others.

The granddaddy of them all

When I’m lonely, yeah I’m lonely but I’m not as likely to do something that I will later regret and potentially have to confess. When I’m hungry I can get a bit testy; but the granddaddy of them all is when I’ve had a long day and all I want to do is go to bed. I am not at my most lovely late at night. To say I’m not a night person would be, um, a colossal understatement.

For me, it’s when I’m tired that I’m most likely to say something that I know — usually immediately– I shouldn’t have said. And sadly it happened yet again last week while I was on a business trip. It had been a long day (note to self, pay attention!) and I had returned from a hot-pot banquet with about an hour before bed. A friend at the banquet later emailed me that I looked tired near the end, but she didn’t think anyone but her had noticed. That was the least of my concerns during the meal! As the guest I kept getting served lots of organ meat. My primary concern around the communal hot-pot wasn’t whether they thought I was tired, but whether or not the hosts were noticing how much pig’s stomach I was trying to hide in my dipping sauce!

So, yes, I was tired.

When I got back to the hotel another co-worker called because she had had a rough day and needed to process it a bit. I like this co-worker and am glad to walk through the up’s and down’s of growth and change. She was sick, not at her best, and at those times can get a bit extreme. Her health will NEVER recover. She’s a burden to everyone she’s ever met. Darth Vader had more friends than she does.

When she gets like this I can usually use mild sarcasm to reflect back to her the absurdity of her statements. Note the use of the word ‘mild.’ Tiredness can take mild and—if I’m not careful, bypass moderate and land on caustic—sarcasm before Princess Leia’s hair comes into it! That evening I was cruising towards caustic when she rightly said, “Wow, you’re a bit sarcastic tonight.”

She was more than a bit generous and gentle! Thankfully, the Helper confirmed with a knife to my heart her admonition and I was able to dial it back to mild. But I know I don’t do well with tired. Late at night I’m good in a crisis, not in a deep conversation and if I’m not on guard what starts off as merely a foolish choice of words can end in blatant, distance causing sin. Now, confession can be made and distance closed. However, how much lighter and freer to be able to go to bed or face the next morning without regret.

How about you? Which are your greatest stumbling blocks?