On Bravery

"You make me brave. You make me brave. You call me out beyond the shore into the waves."

I was listening to this song on and off throughout the week at work, and it wasn't until yesterday that the thought struck me...what do I consider being brave? Listening to this song conjures images of radical acts of selflessness and courage in my mind - overseas missions, innercity missions, standing for the truth and facing real persecution. But what does being brave mean to me in my every day life?

Is it brave to love, support, and submit to my husband when we can't reach an agreement?

Is it brave to offer tea and a place to cry to a friend who has been hurt?

Is it brave to honor those in authority over me?

Is it brave to offer my best work each day at my 8-5 desk job?

Is it brave to love well?

Is it brave to act in obedience, even when I'm bitterly disappointed by giving something up?

Is it brave to raise a family and teach them to love Jesus and to obey His Word?

Is it brave to tithe faithfully?

Is it brave to persevere when I feel taken for granted?

Personally, I see great bravery in people in my life on a daily basis. Consistent, quiet, faithful bravery. I see bravery lived out without calling attention to itself. I see bravery lived out as people choose an intentional life in the face of a world that applauds the easy superficiality. I see my siblings choosing to be parents rather than buddies to their kids. I see my father choosing to work long hours with excellence and integrity. I see my mother choosing to speak hard truths with much love. I see my husband humbly acknowledging when he is wrong, and being willing to grow and change. I see my friends standing for truth in small things that seem easier to compromise. I see fierce love for the orphans, the widows, the outcast, the slandered, the wronged, the forgotten. I see great bravery all around me, most of it stemming from obedience to the One who calls us to live a life that is radically different from the world around us.

"Not in My Backyard"

I've seen this phrase tossed around a bit regarding stances on refugees, and I don't understand why people are so offended by it. I wholeheartedly agree. Have people in my backyard? No. Absolutely not. That would be utterly ridiculous.

It's cold out there. What if you're a family with little kids? There are no lights out there to turn on in case they get scared of the dark. Not to mention that there isn't much room in three squares of cement, and cement is no place for you to sleep.

Come into my home.

Come into my home and stay with us. Sleep on our bed, use our kitchen, use our towels, use whatever you need, whatever you'd like. What do you need? If we don't have it, we'll get it. Teach me how to cook your favorite foods, and don't worry about paying for the groceries. Teach me about who you are, what you love, what you're passionate about, what makes you laugh. Teach me about your country, and please have patience and grace for me in my ignorance. Let me laugh with you; let me cry with you. (Fair warning, I cry pretty easily.) Please let us share what we have with you. It's not much, but it would be our great privilege to share it with you.

If you ask me if I've believed all of the vitriolic rhetoric surrounding refugees, I'll tell you honestly that I did at first; that I still fight the shadows of doubts and fears and prejudices. I will ask for your forgiveness with tears in my eyes, because I am truly sorry for allowing fear to be my first response. But I want to learn how to be driven by love and compassion. I'll tell you that I was scared to open my home to people I don't know. But I don't want my fear to be bigger than my love. I'll tell you that, at my core, I battle with extreme selfishness, greed, and fear, and I need to kill those impulses daily. I'll tell you that I still have so much to learn about love, and that opening my home is a chance to learn more about sacrificial love. I want to learn how to love in practical, specific ways...not simply in abstract ideals.

If you ask me then why I've opened my home and my life to you even though I was afraid, I will gladly tell you about the One who owns everything I have and everything I am. The One who gave me everything I have so I could share it with you. The One who gently teaches me that my love should be bigger than my fear. The One who promises that no matter what happens on this earth, in this nation, in this family, in this home, to the people I love more than words can express...He holds the eternal future. The One who loves you, and who weeps with you. He's too big for my words to express, and I hope my actions do more justice when my words fail.

If you don't want to ask, if you just need to be listened to, if you just need a quiet, safe space, come into my home. But please, not in my backyard. It's cold out there.

Life Lessons from Trudy: Hospitality

Ryan and I had the immense pleasure of hosting some good friends from Illinois as they passed through Laramie on their way to climb Devils Tower. We had six road-weary and stoke-heavy climbers in our apartment, and I couldn't have been happier about it. 

Chess, vinyl, and 007 on N64. Life is very good.

I love hosting people. I love having people over, making food, and planning adventures. Heck, I even love cleaning the apartment before people get there. (Seriously. Ask Ryan.) I love creating a space for people to rest in. It's a way in which I can care for people, and I love to love people. More and more, I find that I like to host people because I feel like Ryan and I have been given so much, and I want to give back.

I have always been tongue-in-cheek when I've said that one of my mother's primary spiritual gifts is hospitality. But now that I have my own space within which to create a home, I'm not so sure it's as flippant of a statement as I initially thought. All growing up I remember Trudy effortlessly, gracefully, and warmly inviting people into home. It was our home, but it was also home for anyone and everyone who needed a home. Sure, there was often a lot of work involved in preparing a place for people, but she found joy in that as simply another part of caring for people. It wasn't a chore for her to stay up late the night before Thanksgiving to make sure that there was enough food for all of the college students who couldn't travel home for the holiday; it was a lot of work, but it was never a chore. Trudy cared for people so much that it was a privilege for her to get to serve them, no matter the cost to herself. And she never, ever made others feel the weight of the work to prepare for their arrival. She never pressured people to enjoy themselves at the risk of offending her. She simply created a place for people, and invited them in to be themselves.

At it's heart, hospitality isn't about having the right pillows or towels or decor. It's not about having the house sparkling clean and neatly organized. It's not about showing off Suzie Homemaker skills. Hospitality is about caring for people. It's a privilege and an act of worship, because I truly believe that God is glorified when we love and care for others.

So, Trudy...thank you for setting that Godly example growing up. Thank you for the way you taught me to love people. Thank you for teaching me to share what I have, even when it doesn't feel like much. Thank you for teaching me how to delight in the details of serving people. Thank you for showing me that serving people is a privilege and a joy. Thank you for teaching me that hospitality is more about what people feel than what they see. Thank you for the way you love people as an act of worship and thanksgiving to God. I am thankful for you, and I am doing my best to do what you taught me!

Keeping the Soil Fertile

A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came seeking fruit on it and found none.  And he said to the vinedresser, 'Look, for three years now I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and I find none.  Cut it down.  Why should it use up the ground?'  And he answered him, 'Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and put on manure.  Then if it should bear fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'  (Luke 13:6-9, ESV)

It's amazing to reflect on how easy it is for me to see the potential in others, but then how quickly  I tend to give up on myself.  When talking through a dry season with a friend, I can so clearly see how God is working in them to will and act according to His good purpose; but when processing through my own dry season, I lose sight of any progress and can quickly sink into a sort of spiritual apathy.  

I can't expect to be growing and able to produce much fruit if I'm not taking in the necessary nutrients!  Much like the vinedresser from the parable above, I have to tend to the soil first with the faith that the fruit will come.  Lack of fruit is the sign that something is wrong, but what is the appropriate response to that sign?

In times of spiritual apathy the easy choice is to focus on my lack of fruit (the lack of joy, the lack of caring, the lack of any wisdom to give to others in my life, etc.) and by so doing to let that discouragement drive me deeper into apathy, eventually leading to an ever-increasing cycle of despair, apathy, discouragement, and depression.  I need the reminder to 'tend to my soil,' as it were: to fill my soul and spirit by spending time with my Gardener.  My job is not to try and create something from nothing by striving to produce fruit without fertilized soil; my job is to take in the nutrients from my Father, Gardener, and Friend.  He is the One who created healthy trees to naturally produce good fruit, and He is the One who will work in my life to bring 'good fruit' in my life.  He is my Source.  If I am connected to Him, the dry season will pass, the apathy will lift, and the fruit will come.  

Is this to say that I have no responsibility in the process?  By no means!  I do have a responsibility!  But if I try to produce fruit, I'm in essence taking glory from God because I'm claiming that I can do what He does of my own strength.  Yes, Jesus tells His followers that "by their fruit" you can distinguish good teachers from bad.  But He doesn't say "by their fruit you will recognize them, so worry about the fruit you bear."  He says "I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. [...] Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing."  (John 15:1, 5, ESV)  The command is to "abide in me," 'find your nutrients in Me, let Me fill your soil with good things.'  I am to be intentional about 'tending the soil' and making sure it is full of good things rather than letting it fill up with unhealthy, contentious things.  Where does my mind drift when I don't have anything to occupy it?  What thoughts or feelings am I entertaining?  Am I choosing to devote my mental and emotional energy to things that are of God, or am I letting my sinful desires creep in and take up residence?  Am I seeking nutrients, or am I seeking to produce my own fruit?  My own fruit will inevitably sour and rot.  The fruit that God produces in me will last.  May I be a tree that naturally produces God-glorifying fruit.

Cumulative Impact

Those familiar with the Leave No Trace (LNT) principles will know that the phrase 'cumulative impact' is frequently used to describe the effect of outdoor enthusiasts on the environments in which we play.  One hiker sidestepping a muddy patch of trail won't do much damage; but a hundred hikers sidestepping the same muddy patch will widen the trail substantially.  On the other side, one person choosing to clean up Snickers wrappers and microtrash from a campsite won't have much effect on the entire mountain range; but a hundred hikers consciously picking up after themselves (and others) will leave a much larger area in better condition.  One decision might not effect noticeable change, but the cumulative impact of decisions effects significant change.  

The same philosophy is true in one's walk with the Lord.  I cannot simply pray once and expect a deep relationship with my heavenly Father.  That relationship, like all relationships, must be intentionally cultivated.  Soren Kierkegaard notes in Fear and Trembling that his generation is losing sight of the richness of a deep faith:

 "In our time nobody is content to stop with faith but wants to go further.  It would perhaps be rash to ask where these people are going, but is is surely a sign of breeding and culture for me to assume that everybody has faith, for otherwise it would be queer for them to be...going further.  In those old days it was different, then faith was a task for a whole lifetime, because it was assumed that dexterity in faith is not acquired in a few days or weeks."

 If this was true for Kierkegaard's generation, how much more so for our generation!  I will not assume to speak for others, but I know that I have absolutely lost sight of what it means to live in a quiet daily relationship with my God.  I often find myself wanting a deeper, more intimate, more fulfilling relationship with God...but I find other pursuits to distract myself and tell myself that I'm just refusing to settle for a quiet, inconsequential faith.  I tell myself that when the timing is right, when I read the right theologians, when I can subdue my own heart, that some ambiguous day in the future I will finally "get it" and intimacy with God will happen.  I expect immediate gratification, immediate intimacy with One to whom I won't even give 5 minutes each day.  My proud heart is not content to seek the Lord in something so antiquated as daily time with Him.  

"When the tried oldster drew near to his last hour, having fought the good fight and kept the faith, his heart was still young enough not to have forgotten that fear and trembling which chastened the youth, which the man indeed held in check, but which no man quite outgrows...except as he might succeed at the earliest opportunity in going further.  Where these revered figures arrived, that is the point where everybody in our day begins to go further."

 I pray that I learn the discipline of a quiet faith.  I pray that I learn to live in the hope of intimacy.  I pray that I learn to curb my tendencies to want "go further" and instead learn that faith is a task for a whole lifetime.  I pray, hope, and know that the cumulative impact of a quiet faith is a powerful intimacy with the Lord.