Birthday Reflections

So today is my birthday. Although it's not a decade milestone, from what I've heard from those who've gone before me, this one is supposed to be difficult. But really, I'm just joyful, happy even.

Last year my birthday wasn't so great. I didn't think it would be any big deal, but the day prior, a friend asked me, "How do you feel about turning x years old?" Unexpectedly, I teared up and said, "Huh. Life is very different than I thought it would be at this age." Still single and with "the smell of death" looming in a dating relationship, I was really sad. So I spent my birthday at the beach with a friend, just wishing that things were different.

Here I am, a year later, with unchanged circumstances. But my perspective has changed...a lot. Over the years, singleness has found me in seasons of contentment as well as deep ache. This year, though, the breakthrough has been that I actually believe that God is not apathetic toward my situation, nor is He withholding blessing. He's simply in this with me.

He is teaching me what it means to WAIT. He is teaching me that His unlimited patience is available to me even when I am tired of waiting. He has answered prayers over this past year that convince me that He is for me.

That "smell of death" that I sensed in the dating relationship was accurate. It wasn't long after my birthday last year that I told J. that I needed to move on. He asked if we could still keep in touch, and I said yes, with the prayer that God would use me in J's life to point to His greatness. In the end, we have a decent friendship. Once again, just last week, we had a conversation where I talked about what God has done, how He's answered specific prayers, and that the same is available to J. I couldn't have planned this any better.

Today I celebrate, not just because it's my birthday (although, admittedly, I'm like a little kid when it comes to such things), but because today is a reminder of all that God has done in the past year and continues to do.

"The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me; Your love, O Lord, endures forever -- do not abandon the work of Your hands." - Ps. 138:8

How Can It Be?

How can today at work have been better than yesterday, a supposed day off? Your guess is as good as mine, but I think it had a lot to do with expectations. I took yesterday as a "comp day" following the STINT Briefing, and that, a day late because of a meeting I had to attend on Monday.

I had grandiose dreams of lying poolside yesterday. But then I, the extrovert, planned every meal with different friends, and since we had a lot to catch up on after a summer apart, each meal took a couple hours. And then the evening was...well...work. Don't get me wrong. I loved the time with friends. I needed it. But the day didn't go as I'd anticipated.

But you know what? Today was a great day at work. I sensed God's presence in what I and others were doing and have come into the school year with an attitude of hope. Plus I talked to several others who feel the same way. Rest is great, but work is quite fulfilling. I loved "work" today...precisely because it didn't feel like work.

Back to Real Life

I've been gone so long from this blog that I had to repeatedly try logging in until I finally got it right. It turns out that the third time IS a charm. Good thing, too; I don't know how many tries I'd get before I'd be banished from the site.

Today I'm working on a seminar talk for the STINT briefing. The topic is, "Spending a Day with the Lord." Honestly, I'd rather be doing that than writing a talk about it. And that's a good thing.

Changed Life

You might think that I'm about to write about character transformation or someone coming to Christ or something equally weighty. But the truth is, when I find something (or someone) I like, I can be just as vocal about its (their) greatness as I am about the gospel.

My life has been changed by a Mac. So, all right, it can't compare with, say, Jesus, and it isn't perfect, but may I just say that I am a much happier person since the old Dell laptop has been stored in an overhead bin at my office? My new Mac boots up in seconds. But you don't ever really have to reboot anyway. It just works. How novel!

http://youtube.com/watch?v=e9Xd5bbw5aE&
...just one more reason to get a Mac!

Spidey...Not Totally Fiction

When God employs such things as talking donkeys to get someone's attention, why should I be surprised that a movie about a fictional superhero can let us in on spiritual truth?

Call me unorthodox, but it isn't only the stuff that is sold in Christian bookstores that reminds me of God's ways. After all, story was His idea in the first place. While this movie never makes the faintest reference to God, it does pull back the veil on what is true.

So I walked out of the theater more hopeful than when I went in. Spider Man 3 reminded me that evil will not win out in the end, that character transformation IS possible, and forgiveness is the key to freedom.

Creative Juices Apparently Sapped

It's funny how not creative you can be when your emotional energy is spent elsewhere. "Maybe I'll be creative tomorrow," I've said for the past three weeks, "and I'll write a post on my blog." And then I wake up..."Nope. I've got nothin'."

Oh well. Maybe I'll be creative tomorrow.

A Hard Week

My heart is heavy as I write this. No doubt you’ve been hearing or reading near constant updates on the shooting deaths of 32 students and faculty at Virginia Tech. Four of them were part of Campus Crusade on that campus.

On Wednesday I found out that three Christian workers were killed in Turkey because of their involvement in spreading the gospel. Friends of mine knew two of them well. http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/04/19/news/turkey.php for more details.

Yesterday I got word that in another country where Christians are the minority, 41 have been arrested for their association with a believer who had insulted the majority religion. A friend of mine is en route to this country as I write this. She isn't yet aware of the crisis. Attempts are being made to inform her and have her stay at her next layover rather than going on to her final destination.

Even as I read lists of requests to pray for the victims' families, it seems trite to summarize their needs. All I can find to ask of God is, "Help them. Please help them." For a more articulate expression of how to gain perspective in the midst of these tragedies, I'd recommend Keith Bubalo's posts from Wednesday at http://globalroad.blogspot.com. That Keith is a wise man.

The god of Safety

One morning last week I woke up thinking about the dream I'd just had: I was meeting with a couple young women I was mentoring (don't know who they were) and asked them a bizarre question, "When you pray, who do you pray to?" I think I was expecting them to respond with either the Father, the Son, or the Holy Spirit. The first answered with, well, I honestly don't remember, but her answer seemed normal. The second girl paused, and sheepishly said, "I pray to Safety." This was not, "I pray for safety," but "I pray to [the god of] safety."

In the dream I went on to explain to these girls that safety is not so safe after all, that self-protection leads to self-destruction in that it kills the heart. I passionately tried to help them understand this.

But I woke up disturbed by the dream. I believe what I told the girls. My desire is to live in the junk of life rather than running from it. While I'm comfortable enough diving into hard conversations and wading through "muck and mire," the scarier thing is to be stuck on the sidelines, feeling out of control, confused, and as though there's nothing I can do except wait. I wish I could say that I've got this figured out, that I choose God's path of gracious uncertainty all the time, but the truth is, I am still on the journey of learning to trust Him with what is unknown and seemlingly unsafe.

I'm sure there will be much more on this topic in the next year...or ten. Stay tuned...

Snakes, Snails and Puppy Dog Tails Are Just the Beginning

I love my nieces' kids. They're the apples of my eye. Being little, though, they sometimes do really gross stuff.

The other day my sister's family was out for dinner at a restaurant. After they finished eating, three-year-old N. (see post, "Daddy Helped Me," for more on him) went and got a mint. Then his dad took him to the restroom. N. apparently thought it would be cool to spit the mint into the urinal. Then, before his dad could stop him, he reached into the urinal, picked up the mint, and popped it back into his mouth!

Can I hear a giant, collective, "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWW!?!"

N's mom is wondering why her sister is recounting the story to everyone (i.e. me), and probably won't be pleased that it's now here for all to read. There are just some things one can never live down.

Good Friday Contemplation

The first time I remember being brought to tears for pain that was not my own, was on Good Friday. I couldn't have been older than seven. I have this memory of going into St. Dominic Church with my mom and sister, kneeling down between the two of them, and gazing at the covered crucifix. It had red fabric over it, a representation of Jesus' body having been removed from the cross and placed in a tomb. I remember thinking that it looked sort of like a giant red kite.

Once that random thought cleared out of my head, my eyes stung because, for the first time, it gripped me that Jesus suffered and died, and for reasons I contemplated but couldn't understand, He had to suffer and die. In my young mind, it had to do with opening the gates of heaven -- the explanation my mom had given me. It wasn't until years later that I understood that it was so much more personal than that, that He was opening the gates of heaven to me because I never could've entered any other way. May I never forget...

Sometimes I Miss Being Catholic

I'm a recovering Catholic...still trying to get rid of the tapes in my head that whisper about having to do penance for being bad. Bad = things like eating less than an hour before taking communion or skipping Mass on August 15.

Over time, however, there are things that I've grown to appreciate about Catholicism, most notably, Lent. As evangelicals, we're quick to rush to the resurrection and completely miss Christ's passion.

I miss the solemnity of Holy Week. I'm grieved that I don't often think about what it cost Jesus to give me freedom and to invite me into relationship with Him. The guilt that we shove behind masks, forget amidst busyness, or bury in addictions, He willingly embraced so that we wouldn't have to bear it. He, the perfect One, chose our pain, our shame, our death over His much-deserved glory. Really, I can't get my brain around this.

So I'm thankful for this week, a reminder that Jesus went into the garden at Gethsemane, rhetorically pleaded, "Dad, isn't there any other way?" and knowing that there wasn't, suffered unbearable pain and humiliation so that I wouldn't have to. Once again, I'm awed by this God whose love is wider, longer, higher, and deeper than I'll ever know this side of heaven.

Remember When It Was Cool to Be Called "Sir?"

Today my hero, Paul Hewson (a.k.a. Bono), was knighted...for real. I feel like I should throw a party! Read the Associated Press story here: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070329/ap_en_mu/people_bono_1
and a Bono bio here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bono

Daddy Helped Me

Yesterday I talked to my niece, and she told me how her three-year-old had ridden his training wheel-clad bike up a big hill, got to the top and said, "I need a rest." My niece was amazed that he could do it. We're usually amazed by her little guy, so this wasn't new.

She put him on the phone with me, and the conversation went something like this:

N: "Hi Auntie KayKay!"...
me: "I heard you rode your bike up the hill. You must be really strong; you're such a big boy!"
N: "Daddy helped me."...
me: "You're still a big boy."
N: "I love you. Bye."

I found it interesting that N. didn't try to take credit for getting up that hill. I'd have been tempted to say, "Yep! I did it!"

Life is full of big hills. Too often I think that I need to get to the top of them all by myself. At three years old, there's no shame in needing help. So I wonder why, even after Jesus says that we are to become like children, I still think I have to strive, to perform, to "fix" life's problems.

Without going into all the details of my current "hill," I will say that I believe I will get to the top of it eventually, and will surely say, like N. (pictured here), "I need a rest." But I really want, like him, to be able to say, "Daddy helped me" instead of "I did it."

On Diversity

Maybe I'm weird, but the thought that people from every tribe, language, and nation will be in heaven praising God together, as described in Revelation 7:9, gets me choked up. Today in church we sang in Spanish and then were led by one of the pastors and his wife, who are from Sierra Leone, in singing "Jabulani Africa," complete with gestures. (I love it that Africans can't sit still to worship; I have trouble not moving, too.)

If I were to show you my kindergarten class picture, you'd immediately notice that I'm one of very few white faces. When my family left Chicago for the suburbs, I didn't stick out as much, but among our neighbors were Filipino, Egyptian, Korean, and German families. That was just on our block and behind our house; and these were first generation. I remember frequently asking my friends, "How do you say that in Tagalog [or Arabic, Korean, or German]?" I guess I never thought my experience was all that unique until I got to college and met people who'd never had a friend of an ethnicity that was different from their own.

Later, living in Paris gave me great opportunities to meet and befriend people from literally everywhere. And it was in Paris that I met one of my dearest friends, who is from a country where the U.S. is currently considered archenemy #1.

Still, even with all these experiences and having many friends from backgrounds that are different from mine, I personally know the ugliness of ethnocentrism. I've gone to other countries and actually judged people because their ways seemed illogical, unbiblical, or just plain stupid to me. When my cultural values clash with another's, I am quick to defend my way of doing things simply because I've never thought of doing it any other way (and might just be afraid to discover that I could have been wrong all these years).

Paradoxically, I've trained missionaries preparing to live long-term internationally. I am well aware of how destructive and ungodly it is to hold my own culture as superior to another, but I am also aware of my propensity for sin. I know that, at times, I could be a character in Crash, a movie that I found both fascinating and disturbing in its penetrating look at the prejudice of several different people groups toward each other. Yet, by God's grace I'm increasingly open to, accepting of, and loving toward people of other cultures. Truly, His glory is revealed more powerfully when His love and unity overrule our fear and closed-heartedness.

Maybe that's why Revelation 7:9 speaks so powerfully to me; not only will we all be in heaven together, but our hearts will have been purified such that we will fully appreciate the beauty, the glory, and the richness of our diversity.

Fantasy Funeral

True confessions: I have fantasies about murdering my laptop, much like the scene in Office Space where the guys take a fax machine to an empty field and bludgeon it with a baseball bat.

This Dell Latitude D500 is the slowest thing since the invention of the Pentium processor. Even after two rebuilds, it sometimes requires multiple reboots per day, each of which takes a good 20 minutes. (Refer to my post on waiting to get an idea of just how much I enjoy spending that much time on the very thing that's supposed to increase my productivity.) Dell could have marketed this model with the line, "At least it's faster than your old 486...sometimes."

My life got better early this week when the head of our tech department responded to my pleas and agreed to replace this sloth with a Mac. The tech guys still won't let me smash this one to bits, though.

The Waiting Is the Hardest Part

Tom Petty had it right when he sang those words. Yet, isn't that what so much of life is about? I find that God has me in a season of waiting right now, and I don't really like it much. St. Augustine said, "The whole life of the good Christian is a holy longing. What you desire ardently, as yet you do not see." I am not a very patient person, and like most Americans of my generation, I question whether I should be entitled to get what I want when I want it.

Yet, it's not like I even have a choice to wait or not wait. I can't hasten anything by deciding that I won't wait. The choice is more like to wait or to fret. I'm not fun to be around when I fret. (Who is?) Jesus pointed out in Matthew 6 that worrying can't accomplish anything anyway.

Lately I've been writing a lot in my journal about waiting. And my journal is written in "franglais," a melange of French and English because that's how my brain thinks most of the time. The other day I wrote, "attendre" ("to wait"). I stared at the word for a couple seconds because I was struck by its possible origin. I've since done a bit of research and can't find any facts to back up my musings on its etymology. No matter; I believe that whatever the word's origin, it is true that attendre, when done in dependence on the Lord, really does "make tender." That's what I sense is happening in my heart -- an increasing tenderness toward Him and others -- as I accept His timing over mine. So while I'd love to have resolution to whatever of life's "drawn out" situations I'm in, I hope that God will mercifully keep me waiting.

Why I Like Gideon

Maybe the title is a misnomer. It could be better stated, "Why I like how God works through Gideon," but that doesn't sound very catchy. Last week I was reading in Judges. I always tune in a little more when I get to chapters 6 through 8 because I really like the story...at least the beginning, pre-idolatry part.

Israel is occupied by Midianities, apparently terrifying people. I picture them as large, sloppy, unkempt types with rotting teeth and faces stuck with an eternal scowl. So little Gideon is hiding from the big, bad Midianites, threshing wheat in a winepress. Now I don't know much about threshing wheat, but I don't think it's generally done in a winepress. Gideon is scared, so he tries to stay away from the bullies who would otherwise take his lunch.

Enter the angel of the Lord, who says to Gideon, "The Lord is with you, mighty warrior." I really don't think that Gideon looked the part. And I think that's one of the reasons I like the story. Much of the time, I don't feel very mighty or like a warrior, but as I let God define me, I see victory in great and harrowing battles. OK, so I haven't taken on the Ork or anything, but my battles are against lies I believe -- about myself, about God, about others. And lately I feel like Gideon must have felt...wowed by an amazing God. Now back to the story...

God tells Gideon that he is sending him to be the one to save Israel from Midian. Gideon incredulously replies, "How can I save Israel? My clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my family." Definitely not who I'd pick as a leader. God responds, as He often does, "I will be with you..." Throughout the Bible, this is what God says after telling someone, "Do not be afraid." Ahhh...His presence, our greatest comfort and our greatest weapon.

Gideon, still incredulous, keeps asking God for signs to confirm that he heard Him correctly. God has been known to rebuke people for stuff like this, "Oh you of little faith..." But it seems that because God sees Gideon's heart, He mercifully gives him signs to prove that He's going to do what He said He'd do.

So then God amasses this huge army of brave Israelite warriors around Gideon and they far outnumber the Midianites and kick their butts. That's what you'd think. That's how I would script it. But no. God seems to like looking like the underdog. And then He surprises us, using the weak things of the world to shame the strong and the foolish things of the world to shame the wise.

What God does is give Gideon instructions, and, in short, Israel's army is reduced to 300 men who are about to face a bazillion Midianites. God instructs them to attack the Midianite camp armed with clay jars with torches in them, and trumpets. Hello! Those don't usually win battles. Again, not how I would script this. But by faith, these 300 guys approach the camp and shout, "A sword for the Lord and for Gideon!" You wouldn't think this would accomplish much. But the Bible says, "And the Midianites ran, crying out as they fled." It sounds humorous, really.

The Israelites blow their trumpets, and God causes the bad guys to turn on each other with their swords. Amazing! No strategic plan, no "Big L" leader, and the weaklings win because their God is strong.

I love that! Most of the time I wonder why God would choose to use me. In the end, I'm certain it has more to do with Who He is than who I am. So now I'm off to pick up my clay jar, torch, and trumpet. Look out, Midianites!

Matt Mikalatos is a clever man.

Thanks to you, Matt Mikalatos, I am entering the 21st century. Now I can write things for all the world to see, and then I will later need to deny ever having written them.