Letter to a Friend

No, your words don't surprise me.

I knew as soon as I began reading that you were writing out your soul, that you were reflecting how you see yourself. And I was impressed, not only with the story you were weaving, but with the perception that it took to see yourself accurately enough to portray yourself as a killer, and with the honesty you showed in sharing the story.

It doesn't surprise me because I know what is in a man. I read the words and I recite them back to myself, in my living room, perched on a rock in the middle of campus, confessing that I cannot live up to God's law,

that

I have a natural tendency

to hate God and my neighbor

that the

fall has so poisoned our nature

that we are born sinners ---

corrupt from conception on.

that

we [are] so corrupt

that we are totally unable to do any good

and inclined toward all evil.

It helps to grow up catechized with those words. Then at least I couldn't say No one warned me, not the night when I heard confessions of what porn really does to you, not the night when I saw what too much alcohol really looks like, not the night I heard stories of abuse, not the night when I found that I am not strong enough to break through all the damage of trauma. Those things still come as a shock, as something horribly wrong, but at least I already knew it.

It helps that I know that I'm dark inside too.

So let's talk about these things, talk about how we don't come into the light because we're scared of being exposed and we're scared of being healed and we're scared of hurting someone else with all the pain locked inside ourselves, so instead it drips down like poison and we die.

Don't start thinking that it's fine for things to be the way they are, just because I expected it. It's not okay. Things suck sometimes.

But I want you to fight. I want you to find joy in being alive. Your words are grey with pain, saying that you're struggling just to feel alive at all. There's more out there than existentialism, and I am praying that it will take over in you and you'll be able to breathe and laugh.

I'm praying for things to surprise you. For joy to break in.

We are so beautiful when we sleep

Hearts of gold and eyes so deep, deep, deep

But love won't cure the chaos

And hope won't hide the loss

And peace is not the heroine that shouts above the cause

And love is wild for reasons

And hope though short in sight

Might be the only thing that wakes you by surprise

Surprise, surprise

Here's the best surprise: God became a man! And moved in with us. And the tomb is empty, and death is conquered.

I know that leaves a lot of mess in your life right now, and in mine too. But this is bigger. This is the beginning of the healing of all the broken.

The sunrise shall visit us from on high

to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,

to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Peace comes costly, with tears and stories and hugs and anger and fighting and death and blood. But it comes. Don't give up.

Why I Need Advent

Yesterday one of my wonderful roommates sent me a link to the blog Six Year Med, and I've been reading the back articles. I like finding out what makes people tick, and Danielle is an excellent writer.

Tonight I found this post, Evidence of Things Unseen.

It was a good reminder. Sometimes we run from responsibility that we should have shouldered. But sometimes we carry it too long, carry what never should have been ours originally.

Jars of Clay:

All of those nights
Spend alone in the darkness of your mind
Give it up
Let it go
These are things you were never meant to shoulder...

Conversation with a sobbing friend:

"This was never your choice to make. You have been faithful much..."

"I should be the one paying the prices."

Because we're prideful and we want to carry the world on our shoulders and be the savior.

I know, because that's me.

The good thing is, I'm not the world's savior.

He is.

It's good to be reminded from time to time that it's not my responsibility to save the world. Rather, to be faithful.

Tim Keller's book Counterfeit Gods does an excellent job of issuing this reminder again. He writes,

There is legitimate guilt that is removed through repentance and restitution, and then there is irremediable guilt. When people say, "I know God forgives me, but I can't forgive myself," they mean that they have failed an idol, whose approval is more important to them then God's.

It sounds silly, and I'd love to be able to say, "No, my identity is fully rooted in Christ, and I only rely on what God says about me to know who I am." But I don't. Because I'm prideful, and it's a lot more in keeping with what I'd like to think about how the world depends on me.

But I need to know that it doesn't. Because it's weight that I cannot carry, weight that only a Savior who is God can, and only a Savior who is man can understand how it breaks you.

That's why I need Advent, because I need Christmas, because I need Him to be born and live and die and be my great High Priest.

The King Who Did Not Forget

Before the creation of the world, they had made a covenant, binding themselves in a relationship without end. There would be the creation, the bringing-everything-to-be. And beyond that lay the darkness of the image-bearers who would blind themselves by looking too long at the light as they tried to overthrow it.

The agreement was that he would redeem the rebels, this covenant made even before they were created. He entered into this willingly, despite the dreadful cost, pledging his very life to save those who were born to be his subjects but were self-determined to be his enemies.

The morning stars sang together and the sons of God shouted for joy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ready?"

The children, wrapped in their blankets, huddled by the fireplace, nodded.

The story began with Once upon a time, as many good stories do, this story of the fulfillment of the covenant. He was born into a land of the planet hostile to him, as had been agreed. He had to grow up humbly, with none of the honor that he deserved. He learned to work with his hands, this one who had created the universe, laying stone in the lovely small town near his home in the hills. He was a master craftsman, but there was nothing about his appearance to suggest that he was anything extraordinary. He was just one of a handful of children, and some still wondered about the legitimacy of his birth.

He may have looked ordinary, but he hadn't forgotten the reason why he had come.

He waited patiently, preparing, until the day of the battle. To the shock and dismay of his small army, he went unarmed into the enemy's camp, all too vulnerable. To be sure, his hands were strong, but the strong hands of one man couldn't defeat the world's best trained army.

They may have forgotten that he had already been living in enemy territory, but he had not.

And he died there, life bleeding out with a desperate cry of forsakenness. Those who had followed him hid. They didn't understand, hadn't heard, the terms on which he gave up his life.

Give me back my people. Give me back my bride.

Like the heroes of Greek and Roman legend, he went down himself into death to pursue and free the captives, to hound hell. Unlike those heroes, he did not fall prey to any of the alluring traps of death, and so it had no hold on him. He slipped out of its grasp, subduing it instead.

He led those he had redeemed out of the deep dark places, into the light. He reclaimed his bride, washing away her shame and covering her with his grace. He trained them to fight, an army to carry on with the final battles until he'd come back again.

"And now we are part of the King's family, too," added a sleepy voice. "Don't forget that part."

"Now we are the King's children too," said the storyteller with a smile. "We won't forget, because he didn't forget. So we live... happily... ever... after."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The happily ever after doesn't come immediately, not when you are part of the forces left in country still occupied by enemies. Sometimes they crowded together, lonely and cold in the vast open spaces, clinging to the memories and the words that were left, the promise that he would, in fact, come back some day. They were wanderers, tethered to the real by the stories passed down from generation to generation, stories more true and lovely than any fairy tale.

Firelight flickered on their grimy faces and bloody hands as they fell asleep, weary, to dreams of a world more real than their own and the King who would return.

The King who had not forgotten before, who would not forget them now.

He was coming.

Thankful...

As I walked back from the dining hall today, I heard a voice singing quite loudly. It made me smile, this guy coming out of the freshman dorm singing, and so I began thinking of how many amazingly good things have happened in the last few days. So I thought that I'd make a list of some of these things that I'm thankful for...

• Dinner with Katie E and her parents on Thursday night and studying for our bio test in her room... it was very fun and relaxing, as well as productive study time.
• The immune system. I really enjoy studying it. I knew there was a reason I was taking more bio.
• Dinner with C-1 on Friday night and listening to how ridiculous we were all being. Finals are definitely approaching...
• Story writing and discussion with a roommate on Friday night...
• Filmfest on Friday night... and getting dressed up... and seeing a lot of campus looking classy. And, of course, getting to see a bunch of amazing films put together by the people I get to go to school with. This included one of the RD's son returning in 20 years to save the college, one based on Rear Window by my roommate Jordan (Part I, Part II), some amazing longboarding footage, and some impressive stop action/animation (here's one done by my friend Josh, and here's another one...).
• Repair day with Dag on Saturday... fun times with the Dag'ers, and a good mix of new and old members... really good pizza... many repaired weapons... chasing to get and avoid being in pictures...
• Going to the Christmas concert last night; it's always wonderfully done, the church is beautiful, and I got a ride down and back, plus time with some friends who I've seen less this semester.
• Sliding down the slippery sloped floor in the shoes with no traction as I waved at Katie E and both of us going from very happy waving to very confused expressions... then Bill fake-tripping me and semi-insulting my outfit...
• Coming back to my room and watching 9 with Jordan. It was kind of creepy but very well animated, and parts were really cute.
• Lots of blankets and a very warm bed to sleep in.
• Caitlyn calling this morning about the snow on the roads. I'm glad for safe drivers.
• Getting to hear Titus preach as a result of snow, and being at church with Caitlyn and Fiona. I love worshipping with friends. (That is going to be one sweet thing about heaven.)
• Christ's encouragement to the church in Philadelphia. (Text for this morning's service.)
• Warm boots and wool socks and a warm coat and gloves.
• Snow falling in fluffy clumps.
• The color orange, and my amazing orange shirt which my mom found for me.
• The photos on the wall above my bed.
• The opportunity to make a mosaic downtown on Wednesday night... it was fun and very relaxing. And I got to know some girls who I didn't know much before, and catching up with some who I knew vaguely.
• The kid who walked out singing and made me think about this all.
• A beautiful new mosaic glass necklace made by Yonpli.
• Music by Michael Card, especially The Promise and Soul Anchor CDs.
• Chocolate. (And randomly being given it!)
• The many faithful witnesses to Christ who have gone before me.
• Friendliness of people who I haven't seen in a long time.
• Salt on sidewalks.
• Heather Dale's music (and the fact that Greyhound is not stuck in my head still, as it was all yesterday.)
• Light.
• Smells. Last year every time I smelled our suitemates' room, I felt relaxed and safe, and it's similar this year in my apartment.
• Poetry.
• His coming.

How about you?

Adventures of Late

Yesterday was the first day of Advent. I love Advent, maybe more than I love Christmas. I love looking forward to Him. I love the double-edged nature of Advent now, looking back to when He came, looking forward to His coming again.

Tonight I turned on the Music of Silence and now I'm basking in it, the glory of voices echoing out solemn and beautiful.

There's still a lot to be done before the end of the semester. But some of that is laughing and sharing memories and drinking in the beautiful and my heart crying out, Come quickly...

But of the Son he says,

“Your throne, O God, is forever and ever,
the scepter of uprightness is the scepter of your kingdom.
You have loved righteousness and hated wickedness;
therefore God, your God, has anointed you
with the oil of gladness beyond your companions.”
(Hebrews 1:8-9 ESV)

Recent Pieces of the Semester in Photos and a Few Words

Midnight showing of Harry Potter with a bunch of my best friends...

Days spin by in a dizzying drift

Calender pages floating to the floor

Slipping from my over-full hands.

“SHUT UP! I’M TELLING A STORY! I’M NOT EVEN GOING TO TELL YOU THE STORY!”

So I follow Your footsteps

And the sound of Your voice

To the place where light meets the evening...

More Than Enough

Two years ago seems like a long time.

But as I realize that the semester is thundering towards its end in a blizzard of papers due and presentations to give, more knowledge in my head and hopefully more wisdom in my life, I'm thinking about what it was like two years ago.

The college years, it seems, are full and fast and it's hard to remember last week, let alone my first year here. But I stretch out my fingers to that time, trying to recall who I was then and what I wish I had known, trying to see who I need to be, what needs to change in me in the time coming.

I pull up pictures on my screen from that first semester. Dag, sunshine, Frontier Club, people who I barely knew then and now count as friends. Fall leaves, a friend's soccer game on her birthday, eating meals in the dining hall, in peoples' homes. A small concert in the gym, first snow, a retreat one cold and icy weekend. Winter Wonderland, with my hall transformed from bare white walls by paper and markers and lost sleep. A bunch of different people trying on a hoodie, struggles zipping it up. Christmas dinner with my Greek class. I remember these things. And there are a lot of memories tied to each of these, the laughter and the backstories, how I first met these people and why we became friends, why we stayed.

I thought I was mature then. Now I look back and wonder at how little I knew... which makes me think that in a few years, I'll do the same thing all over again to myself now. It seems to be how life works.

My accountability group had laughed kindly at how excited I was about everything -- the coming classes, my homework... I was enthusiasm and they said it was refreshing and I wondered how on earth anyone ever lost that excitement. I think I know more of the answer now; you get older and you get busier and you learn to not be so fast to be excited about everything, that there is generally some cost involved and it will take its toll on you. I didn't know that then. I think I'm glad that I didn't.

I'm working on relearning enthusiasm and smiling at everything. I'd rather be open and get hurt sometimes than be wary of everything, locked in a self-designed prison of armor. I'd rather pray boldly and give God what is really on my heart than come to Him with a few safe requests that I won't be disappointed if He doesn't grant.

With the fears of a girl
and the heart of a woman
and everything that runs in between...
[Sandra McCracken]

One of the hard questions I was asked about a year ago by a friend was something like this: "Would you as you are now still have chosen to be friends with me?"

I wanted the answer to be yes. But I don't know what the truth is in that case. Because I have become better at seeing and recognizing pain and darkness. Two years ago I was a good bit more oblivious, and more sure that I could take on anything. Now there are things that I am more liable to recognize from a mile away and that gives me a difficult decision... stay or go?

I still want the answer to be yes.

I want the answer to be, Wherever He leads me, I will follow.

And I want my following to be fast eager running, not begrudging doling out of energy.

Because He is more than enough. He was more than enough two years ago. He's more than enough still.