Wasting Nothing

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I was talking to a dear friend of mine last night, who is going through some deep issues within their family. And tears seem to be the easiest response when life seems to go in the opposite direction than we thought it would.

So I shared with her a song that I heard first in another blogger's post.

Nothing is wasted.

And it's incredible for me to look back on that Thing That Took Me Away. It doesn't cause hurt or pain or bitterness when I recall it, though. Instead, I see the entire situation gilded with glory and creased with signs of care by One who knew exactly what He was doing.

Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing. (James 1:2-4, NLT)

Having a sister who was considered by some to be disabled for a time? Gave me a heart for those the world see as disabled, and enabled God to show me a passion I didn't know was there.

Not being able to go to the MK boarding school in the capital city that I was looking forward to? Being placed in a school that allowed me to learn how to play the flute and tour with a choir for three years, plus many other opportunities, eventually leading to going to Millar.

Having an interview yesterday and it immediately ending after hearing that I've committed to going to Bible Camp this summer? Provides a way for God to work in something that's building up to blow me away with His grace.

If I just allow myself to see it that way, instead of what the surface seems like. It's sometimes easy to forget that He still knows what He's doing.

Each day, when I come upon those small disappointments or hard conversations or burdens from a friend, He is the only One who can hold and gather each broken piece.

His Arms are big enough, and His heart is deep enough.

There is nothing, absolutely nothing that He does not use in my daily life. No incident comes into my life that He does not put there for a purpose, and He is faithful to use the most broken parts of us to bring the most glory to Himself.

What about you? Anything, absolutely anything you're going through, He knows. He's already in there, He's got it under control.

Nothing is wasted.

Tearing

Getting back into routine yesterday was such a good feeling. It felt as if I had finally slipped back into the groove that I left when I went home for semester break.

More than that, God hit me hard with something that I have often struggled with.

Who am I?

As the mid-terms were handed back and my mark was lower than those around me and yet by no means anything to be ashamed of, I felt myself sliding into my oft-visited pit of comparison (synonymous with the pit of despair, if you would).

There are so many expectations that I place upon myself. Expectations of what marks I am to get, how organized I should be, how responsible I should be, how I should look, what my friends should think of me, even how I should come across in my blog. Not that I spend *forever* preparing it, but I read it through a good three or four times to make sure that everything makes sense, that my words are crafted well, and even pat myself on the shoulder for some good alliteration or some attention grabbing stories. Then, I anxiously check the number of times that post has been read after a few days of being posted on FB. How sad am I?

And when one of those personal expectations I hold for myself is torn down, it hurts a lot. And although I’ve placed my academic life at His feet over and over and over and over and over again, every time I keep one fingernail hooked in it and drag it towards myself again.

As I stared at my mark and flipped through the test to see what I had gotten wrong, He held me from slipping into that pit of despair and made me think.

Who am I?

Who am I when all of my pre-conceived notions of what I should be are stripped away? Who am I when all my talents are incomparable to others or are not receiving notice? Who am I when I roll out of bed with greasy hair and acne and humongous pjs?

Am I fully His? Are my days consumed with making Him look better than me?

Not, as the saying goes, thinking less of myself, but thinking of myself less.

What does a heart after God’s own heart look like? Am I living every moment in a true conviction of who God has made me to be? Am I secure in the way that He has created me? Are the various facets of my life reflecting Him?

That test hurt. And the conviction about so many areas in my life where I fail to honour Him left me feeling flaky and like a pretty empty-shell.

He is all I need, and so often I find myself creating my identity apart from Him. It’s not that He’s only sufficient for all that I could ever need, He’s overflowing with all that I could ever want.

He is the perfect bridegroom waiting for me to realize that He has crafted me to be His perfect bride.

And I let the world define me, instead of Him. I tell myself that I have to appear a certain way, act a certain way, seem a certain way.

But I want a heart that is after His own. I don’t know if earthy is the word that I’m looking for, but I long to be someone who is down-to-earth, who has no façade, who is pure in the way that I represent His Son in my actions and in the way that I speak. To speak with honesty and wisdom, to be thoughtful and kind, cheerful and reasonable, and yet completely head over heels in love with a God who delights to dance with his daughter.

And I feel as if my pretty rainbow-coloured fluffy illusions are being torn into pieces by His Word, and I feel devastated and empty and not enough.

But He takes those pieces and places each one, by His wisdom, into the frame of His will, and purely by His grace, the Son shines through the stained glass window art that He is making.

May I be willing to be torn, to not be enough, that I may be healed in His image, to testify that He is more than enough.

Day 8: Formando Vidas

Journal Entry:
(YWAM compound)
In the afternoon, we went to the YWAM compound. E B was there and we spent time playing with the kids, hearing some of their stories and knowing that any trouble that I go through is so much less than theirs, and eating hamburgers for supper. When S got home, we all gathered around and he told us about their street kids' rehabilitation program. What shone through was his willingness to do everything and anything You told him to do (and he continues to do so today).

The thing that really challenged me was how the whole purpose of his life changed after he was willing to give everything up. I've tried to do that again and again, but I always hang on so tightly to some small part. Honestly, I'm scared to think of what You could and would do in my life if I let You have full control. My ideas and knowledge are so limited to my personal knowledge sphere.

Help me to lay down everything, knowing that You want everything for my good and that You will multiply my wildest dreams into something I can't even imagine. Help me to daily lay down myself and to let go, knowing that You are unchanging and good.

(YWAM school)

Well, You definitely showed me a lot of things today. We taught at the YWAM school which was cool because it catered to street kids and so had a different teaching style. The class sizes were from 3-6, and it was fun working more one-on-one than ever before.

These kids have amazing potential and I'm so glad that You're working in that way to bring kids to You to break the generational cycle.

(The Jungle)

It is an amazing place! Although the different stations are set up from whatever they have, it looks like something any little kid would enjoy. I volunteered to stay at the foosball tables along with whoever else wasn't busy at another station. These kids had never been there before and the joy in their eyes as they went through all the different stations and played to their heart's content, was gladdening to see. It's sad to think that these kids haven't been able to come before because their area is controlled by a guy who says what they can or cannot do.

After a while of playing, everyone sat down and we helped to serve their snack. Then, with the help of some laminated pictures, some of the kids told the story of blood, sacrifice, and sin that started at Genesis and led up to the death of Jesus. Although there's so much that has gone on in their lives, it amazed me to see how much truth can be put into one child's life. Even though it's hard, there is a pastor working among these children, planting seeds that could very well cause a large harvest to be reaped later on. I need to determine to do that in my own life - to do what may seem little, praying that it may grow large in Your hands.

While the kids played for a few more minutes, we hopped into S B's van and toured the region nearby to give us an idea of where the usual kids who come to play come from. Just a few streets up, there was a region that was testament to how much Your love is needed in this city.

I don't know that it must have felt like to be a guy at that moment, because to be a girl was hard enough. To think of these girls, who are being shown daily that "love" can be bought and that they are only useful as toys, makes me cringe. They have no idea of Your love for them, no idea of the beautiful soul that You created within them to be realized, no idea of a Hope beyond what they see every day. What did I do that I am privileged enough to have been born into a Christian family, to live in Canada, to go to the school that I do, and every other thing that I have been blessed with. Why them in this predicament and not me? I am once again glad that You promise them a future and a hope. 

Prayer is essential for wisdom and strength in all these facets of ministry. The cycle of destruction that they are endeavoring to break is powerful. Pray that if delivered that they would not be sucked in later in life but that they would continue in their bright futures. Pray for some of the children to come back and teach (some of them have already done this). Pray for permission from parents to put their kids into these homes that teach them what true family looks like. Pray also for the prostitution zones, for ministries to be started there and for the Christians already there to have opening doors towards their friendships. Pray for the workers as they create relationships of trust with kids through the Jungle. Above all, pray that God`s glory may shine in this ministry and that hearts would be won for the gospel.

More info: http://colombiastreetkids.org/

In Your Tears

I knew you were going to cry before I saw the actual welling up in your eyes. Your big grey-blue eyes became shimmery, then outright damp, then you crossed your hands over your knees so that no one could see your tears.

You had just laid it in the box. That robin so full of life had drooped its head, and we all knew but didn't want to say it. A few minutes before you had peeked your head around the entryway, beckoning to Mom to come and see something, with that serious look in your face.

With all the noise of birthday celebrations in the background, you held the bird with a cocked wing in your hands, a glow in your eyes.

Although you torment us siblings at times, you have an amazing ability for compassion and kindness to animals. They are your heart siblings in some way, because you come alive when you're around them. I've sometimes wondered what kind of vet you would make.

So you and Mom discussed what to do with it, and when you loosened your grip, it tried to flutter away. Moments later, I looked back and all I saw was the body once again encased by your hands and the droopy head, no life seeming evident in its body.

You stood there a moment, taking in the fact that the bird was now dead. Then, you laid it in the box and rejoined the celebrations. Your tears came soon afterwards and it didn't take very long until Mom came over and asked you whether you wanted to bury it now or wait and see if it might still be alive. You said, in a tear-cracked voice, "Wait." It was all you could choke out.

Eventually, you escaped to your room. I followed you.

You cry like me, little buddy. Silent upheavals and tears coursing down cheeks, trying to make as little sound as possible. I sat there rubbing your back and then got you to explain your Lego Ninjago online game to me.

Soon you were alright. But that glimpse into your heart, the one often disposed to gaiety and jokes, but rooted deep in soft-heartedness, was wonderful.

I am so proud of you for crying, for having that softer, more solemn side, and I am so blessed that you are my little brother.

In the Deja Vu

As I'm packing up, stuffing things into nooks and crannies and checking my list twice, the sense of deja vu hits hard.

The very last time I was on an airplane was arriving in Calgary after flying home from Cameroon because of a medical emergency.

And it feels so wrong to be packing up and getting ready to board a flight headed somewhere other than Cameroon.

It took me awhile to get over my feelings of doubt.

Doubt that this trip will impact me in a huge way because of my past.

Doubt that I would be shocked by children scavenging in the gutters and people scraping a living off of the streets.

Doubts that I would learn to love another third world country.

Doubts that He's shown me are so unfounded and ridiculous when compared to the hugeness and awesomeness of who He is.

And I am still scared that going through this process will bring up that longing. Longing to go to my other home, to be surrounded by all the things that I hold dear.

I don't want to re-say everything I said back then... so just read it.

But He's greater than any longings or any doubts.

And I know that He will also implant in me a longing to make Colombia my home, to be able to stay and love these people with the fullest extent of my love.

And through all of this, I'm learning that my longing should be for Him, above all.

But also, for wherever place that He has called me to share His love.

And even though I have memories, I'm heading out the door to create new ones.

Please pray... and get ready for some blog posts once I get back! :)

Through a Blessing

I opened up my e-mail this morning and found it sitting there.

A small note from my earthly father who is in Europe right now.

And as only one who has been with me from my very beginnings can write, he wrote:

To my own Christa-belle,


Just wanted to bless you with this blessing as you head out to Colombia tomorrow!


May God's love shine brightly through you
 may you take risks
  may you be pushed out of your comfort zone to find your strength in Him and not in the amazing talents you already possess
    and may your choose love over safety, service over comfort, and
      may your heart be broken by the things that break His heart.


I love you very much!


Dad

And these words speak to my heart, so much so that I find tears welling up in my eyes.

Because that's what I've been afraid of these past few days with the time ticking and my heart feeling so unprepared.

I've been scared that I would not let myself be hurt, because of how my heart still hurts for another country that is dear to my heart.

I've been scared that I wouldn't knowlingly let my heart get attached because of the ripping-away that comes later.

But as I read those words, I recognize that it isn't about me in the least.

It's about Him.

It's about how He can take this crumbling mess of doubts and confusions and transform it into a creation that glorifies Him in every action every day.

It's about how He works through  my weaknesses to showcase His strength.

And since it's all about Him, I have nothing to fear.

Absolutely nothing.

Because He will not change, and He will not fail.

And it's all about Him.

Worthy

These last days have been hard.

Diploma exams, friends, test, assignments, conversations, appointments, sleep... they all swirl around this head that is tired of hearing it all.

And I find myself stressing. Stressing over the tiniest mistakes I make, regretting those moments during tests when I changed answers, thinking about what I could've done differently.

Becoming overly competitive and slightly hostile towards those who are trying to pursue the same thing as me... excellence.

The thing is, this excellence isn't the good kind.

This excellence is the kind that gives me the glory, the ribbons, the admiring looks, the teacher's knowing nods, the feeling that I have a significant worth in others' eyes.

And as it's been piling up on me, little grievances one upon another, and my calendar stands packed and everything surrounds... He fades.

It was when I was washing dishes late at night, listening to music that makes the mundane a majestic moment, when I heard it.

Words of laying down... of crowns placed at His feet.

Of holiness.

And as my hands paused from their work, and my elbows rested on the edges of the sink, and my eyes closed... I saw.

Saw how my days had been worthless without placing Him at the forefront.

Saw how He is the only reason I live and breathe and if I do not glorify Him in my day... it had no purpose.

And I lay them down.

Those crowns that I have been hoarding, kept in a cupboard so that I could shine them and meditate on the greatness of... myself.

Bringing them out hurt. Their glimmer seems like dirt when placed next to His feet.

But that's where they belong.

And I belong bowed there. Seeking only Him.

Finding Him... worthy.

Worthy of all the opportunities I may have to let go, worthy of all my time, energy and talents, worthy of my money, worthy of... everything that I am.

Worthy of being seeked with all of my heart.

Until It Hurts

Growing up overseas, many things in life were seen with a different view than they are here. Say, food, for an example. You were not safe eating anything unless there was some plantains, or another kind of starch sitting nearby, in order to cool your tongue once you figured out just how many pepe peppers they had put in this time. Another thing: the host always takes the first bite. Not for politeness' sake, but instead to prove to you that they haven't poisoned anything. Such was the reality I grew up with.

As I look back now, these lessons, which taught me to take a different view of life than most, are so important and influence so much more of my actions than I thought that they did. The biggest one is money.

I never thought that we were poor. In fact, to everyone around us, we were the "rich white people." I was fed, clothed, got some gifts for Christmas and birthdays, and was loved. What else did I need?

Nothing... but that's not what culture over here tells me now. It says: "Store up, you never know when you might need it!" or "Splurge... you're worth it!" And with these voices inside of my head, I find it harder to adhere to the things that I learned about money while growing up, which were: always save, always tithe, always give away freely.

Often, people would come to the door, wanting some cash to supposedly take someone to the hospital, or buy some important medicine, or the taxi cab fare in town to see some relatives. And my parents gave. Not all the time, especially when someone was a notorious drunk,etc., but even when there was some doubt about the legitimacy of the cause, they gave. And they weren't always paid back (although, there were often repayments in fruit or chickens, etc.). The thing is... they knew that when they gave the money.

I think the biggest thing that has changed between Cameroonian culture and the North American culture is the importance that is placed on money. Because money really only holds the importance that you give it. Overseas, money is often seen as a means to an end, such as feeding the family, expanding the farm, paying for an education. But here? Too often, money is an end in and of itself.

And how that has affected me comes to show now... when I have money.

I am so thankful for my job... for how much it's not a job. And as I receive a pay cheque, I'm so glad that I can easily tithe. But give away? No.... what about college? I mean... debt is a no-no, so I've got to save. But there again... the means to an end. When I'm saving money to feel secure, money becomes my security, the end, instead of the means. But when I give away? It goes freely, to accomplish whatever can be bought or given with it.

And it leaves me struggling with how to give and how to save.

 But I am reminded about the *widow's mite*.

Might the secret be not to give as much as I can, but instead, to give until it's not the extra, but the necessary? To give until it hurts? To have a pinch because of generosity? Because that's when money has no importance, no hold on me, except the ability to help others in whatever way that it can.

This Christmas, can you give until it hurts?

Risk

At last week's Colombia meeting, S showed us some pictures from the Colombia trip last year. I'm already starting to get excited as the date creeps closer and closer (less than 75 days!), but as she neared the end of her pictures, she brought up something that I hadn't been formerly informed about. She turned to a few pictures of kids playing around in a yard, a big imposing house in the background and then explained... that we're visiting a physically and mentally disabled holding house.

As S was telling her story of seeing things that white people aren't normally allowed to see there, my heart tugged and I wanted to change it. Wanted to make all the boo-boos better. Because, people who have nobody else is a very real *passion* of mine. And I'm so excited to see how He's going to grow and make that passion flourish when I'm surrounded by those in need. I love playing with kids, getting them to laugh, making up games, passing the time marveling at the world with them... but I'm also scared.

Scared that I will crawl back into my old shell, will be introverted, will not plunk down and feel instantly at home and start playing with kids. Because... I've always been afraid of getting hurt. Not physically, but emotionally. Of heartache, of pain, of sorrow, of tears.

I've had a lot of that in my life. A lot of pulling away, being uprooted, saying good-bye. Or.. even worse... not being able to say good-bye at all. Of having to leave a country where I grew up and never get to go to my childhood haunts and say good-bye. And I'm scared to bare my heart for all to latch onto, and then to be ripped away again. But... maybe He's calling me to that. Maybe... just, maybe, He's calling me to let it hurt. To let Him work through a passion and calling strong in my heart. To allowing Him to work through my affections to craft me into a more caring and affectionate person. But it hurts.

And these thoughts brought to mind something that I wrote less than a year ago. Because these struggles will come back time and again, when I'm faced with loving those who I think are unlovable, with those that I don't want to risk having my heart attached to. When I love.

Love (March 20th, 2011)

So often when I look around
there are people
without a sound
longing to be loved.

But when I'm among them
Only casual greetings pass my lips
And when alone I search
and find
that I'm afraid.

Afraid of what might happen
if I let go
Fearful of the repercussions
of letting my heart show

To open my arms
and heart to a world of need
Takes one who is higher than me
I am so used
to saying good-bye
Of tears and uprooted feelings

Through it all,
My heart's gotten wise
And built a wall
Tall and wide

So each day I work
Taking, brick by brick,
Apart this wall of
Shelter my heart has built.

 And with new eyes enter
A world that is pleading
to know the One above
So, taking my chances...

I let go of fear
Of reproof, dismissal, disdain,
and open wide a helping heart
Realizing what love's really about

It's not about feelings
although those play a part
It's a choice to let go
Of getting dirty and low...

 And allowing the hurt,
The pain and the dirt
Finding that love...
is about holding nothing back.

Weeding

I dug with my fingers, gouging the hard dirt with my nails. Gathering up all the leaves of the plant, I pulled, willing the roots to follow. They didn't. Digging deeper, searching around sight unseen, finding a clump and pulling. Holding the roots of that which would kill my garden. Feeling satisfaction.

Recently, I've been dieting. Now don't panic! Not that kind of dieting. A diet of books.... cutting out a lot of the fluff that I normally read and trying to engage in either classics or Christian Living books. Learning to spend my time wisely and not to waste it. Even as I take this small step in trying to manage my time as well as purifying what enters my mind, my other habits come to mind more clearly.

What in the rest of my day is useless? What am I doing that has no relevance to what my purpose in life is? What needs to be weeded out? Once the question is asked, it's easy to supply answers. But once the answers are spoken, they hang there, like carbon dioxide does on a cold day. I watch them float and don't want to go any further.

Because weeding hurts. That dirt under my fingernails took a long time to get out. I only went out and weeded because I hadn't for weeks... because I felt compassion on the poor plants in my garden. It wasn't a chore that I was jumping up and down to do.

It's necessary though, in order to yield plants that aren't choked, plants that are fresh and alive. And that's what I want to be. Fresh and alive, ready to be used. But I can't if I'm being suffocated by weeds. I don't want to weed.. whether in real life or in my spiritual one, but it has to be done. Like a chore put off until the shadow of consequence looms above me.

Why would I? For love. Because He loved me so much, He did much more than just weed. He was scourged... He died. And it's because He knows how much potential I have that I hope. That I know that I can be that plant that lives, and that He will help me weed, with His hand guiding mine. Showing me the deepest and darkest pits of ugly, slimy weeds that I want to keep hidden from the world. Giving the strength to confront them, to plan to destroy them, and to keep on doing so in the days that follow. To do it completely so that later the roots don't produce new weeds, even stronger this time.

With this hope, why wouldn't I weed?