Better Than Anything

I am an aunt. This is by far one of my greatest life achievements. While, yes, its arguable that I have done nothing to earn this honor, I still value it as an important part of my identity.

When I was 18, I got a first degree black belt in Mixed Martial Arts. It took me five years of constant bruises, sore muscles, scratched cheeks, and (only one) concussion before I finally did it. I worked hard--and I was proud to do so. The day that dark piece of cloth was tied around my waist, I walked like a new woman. 

In college, I became an RA. My mother and sister had been RAs before me and the desire to be one too had been with me since I was a child. The day I got the news that I would be on the small team of eight student leaders, I felt as if I had won the spiritual lottery. The Lord has blessed me! I declared. 

Only days after receiving the news, I was hired for the first time as an employee at Hume Lake, a summer camp I had longed to work for. Not only was I going to be living in the forrest on the greatest adventure of my life, but I would be working in one of the most coveted jobs in camp. (Who doesn't want to play with babies and children all day and sleep in on the weekends?) 

The elation at gaining each new piece of my identity made me feel whole and rounded. It was like every side of my self was becoming what it ought to be, what it longed to be. 

But I am no longer concerned about those things that once gave me such excitement and purpose. Each of these pieces are still parts of who I am, but I no longer sweat with the goal of improving my boxing skills, or thrill at the idea of being an RA, or swoon to think of the adventure of being a Hume Lake Summer Staffer. Now, as a senior in college, my identity is being reworked. I am placed yet again under the steady hand of the One who made the life I loved so much in the past.

I think it is easy to be concerned about where our lives are headed. Its easy to worry that it may all flop and that we will end up unimpressive and alone. Yet when I look back at the life that God has allowed me to live, I wonder why I worry at all? Each one of those pieces of who I am are now no more daunting or terrifying than buttoning my pants or brushing my teeth. But if you ask a three-year-old to brush his teeth or button her pants, he or she is going to struggle with it. Frustration will kick in, tears may come, and certainly that child may run off bad-breathed and naked. We don't blame the child, however, but instead patiently allow for another try, another attempt, and help them put on those pants and clean that mouth appropriately. 

I never want to reach a point where I stop allowing myself to learn, to be the newbie. At one point, every major accomplishment in my life was an insurmountable task that I couldn't believe I was capable of doing. 

When God called Isaiah to preach the truth to Israel, he said something I found amazing. After years of no success, God says, 

“It is too small a thing for you to be my servant

to restore the tribes of Jacob 

and bring back those of Israel I have kept.

I will also make you a light for the Gentiles,

that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.” 

(Isaiah 49:6--italics my own)

God doesn't look at Isaiah and ask him to stay where he is. He calls him to bigger and greater things than he ever could have imagined. And what if Isaiah had said, "No thanks, God. I have learned how to do this whole failed ministry thing really well, and I don't feel like starting something new right now--I'm not sure it will work anyway." Had he done that, I would never have had the chance to be influenced by those words so many years later. 

As I look forward, I know my identity will change again. I will likely gain new relationships, skills, diplomas, titles, jobs, responsibilities. But what has and will never change is that I belong to a God who sees me for who I am and is not content to leave me there. I, and you, are forever being changed by God into the one we were created to be. So I will go on, contented that what is before me is better than anything I could have left behind.

For Ray

I am a writer.

If you had met me three years ago, you would understand why this sentence would never have escaped my lips. I was (am) scared of what being a writer truly means. Writing exposes. It is vulnerable. What's more, good writing is just as terrifying as bad writing because good writing demands a successor. What if I never achieve anything better than what is already my best?

But I am a writer.

This means I cannot stop writing. It is my expression, my passion, my tangible thoughts and imagination. It serves as an active telescope into my mind, giving me the chance to dance through ideas, arrange dreams, and play in my imagination.

Ray Bradbury once said that he writes "so as not to be dead" (The Illustrated Man).

Writing is not for sport, for entertainment, or for money. Writing comes from a deep desire to capture life and weigh it in our own hands, judging its contents to be fair or false. By words on pages, we not only share ideas but emotions and injustices and empathy. If writers were to stop writing and readers were to stop reading, I believe humanity itself would be absent of hope.

But I am a writer.

And by this title I accept the role I have to write and create and speak onto the page everything my heart asks of me. Ernest Hemingway wrote, "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." What happens when I stop bleeding out my story? Will my heart give out altogether?

So I am a writer.

I write to live. I write to understand. I write because I'm afraid if I stop writing what I see in my head and think in my heart will become vague and purposeless. Yet before all the computers crash, all the pencils are burned, and every pen looses ink, I will write every word that I want to ... "so as not to be dead."

Leading in Silence

"Wherever you are, be all there" - Jim Elliot, martyred missionary.

          I recently started a journey. Only six short weeks ago, I elected to be the shoulder, the supporter, the mouthpiece, the entertainer, the rule keeper, the (right) rule breaker, the mother, and the sister of a lovable and loud group of newly minted adults; I became an RA. Along with the busy days and long nights, I have found a unique ministry in which every part of my being is useful. Whether it be counseling through laundry, boyfriends, or the greater mysteries of life, I am blessed by the opportunity to share my life with 800 other students, each of which have already taught me more than I will ever teach them. 

         As part of a class assignment, I was tasked with reading through "The Revolutionary Communicator" by Jedd Medefind and Erik Lokkesmoe. Each chapter is dedicated to a different aspect of communication within the context of Christ-like leadership. Christ sets the example, we follow. The first chapter address the importance of listening in communication. The chapter suggests that truly and actively listening not only provides us with a better understanding of those around us, but allows for us to make someone feel heard and important. 

Thinking back to the times when someone has talked with me through a difficult situation, from a minor breakup to a major tragedy, I am reminded that my place in the matter is not solely to advise, console, or fix; my role is to listen. Many times, by merely listening, I have seen a person come full circle and produce their own solution to their problem. While being truly attentive does take practice and discipline, it is far less work than riddling out others’ problem when ultimately they know the answer which they seek. Strangely enough, at the end of a conversation, I am often thanked for my help when all I have done is listen.

"To listen is an effort [...] just to hear is no merit. A duck hears also." - Igor Stravinsky, composer.

I recognize the value of being present far more now than I ever have before. Hourly, I receive emails, text messages, phone calls, calendar reminders, and countless other social media notifications all requiring my response. Does this kind of personal demand make me feel overwhelmed? Yes. But it also makes me feel needed and important. When I respond to an email promptly, I view myself as responsible, reliable, and valuable. My culture reenforces these feelings, encouraging me to purchase even more apps and planners to accommodate more and more events, meetings, classes, and programs. In all the chaos of productivity, is it possible that I stopped listening to my classmate’s weekend plans? Did I forget to wish someone a verbal “happy birthday?” Was I too busy to notice the perfect day my Creator made for me? 

As long as I chase after the illusion of importance, I will continue to forget the reality of existence. 

In response to life's demands, the chapter listed different strategies for leading a more engaged life. Most simply, we should practice actively seeing, hearing, and expressing what we see in the world around. Many people struggle in finding a sense of meaning to life. I would suggest—and I think this chapter supports this—that ministry is all around us. Without ever leaving our communities, each and every person has a chance to impact the one sitting, driving, or shopping next to them. Living with intention creates a life of purpose. While remaining silent may contradict the inner speaker's desires, the lasting impact is worth the wait.

"Attentiveness must flow sincerely from the heart. When it does, new life always follows." - Medefind and Lokkesmoe (p. 20)