You know it’s a bad day when you wish you were a bird. And on this particularly hard day, I wanted wings. Anxiety is like that for me sometimes. Some days it feels lighter and I barely notice it, but on other days it comes at me like a freight train and I’m standing in the middle of the tracks. When it seems too overwhelming to bear, I daydream I could fly away from it. 

All it takes is that one trigger and my mind starts to spiral. I go from zero to ninja, ready to strike at any moment. No one’s fighting me of course, there’s no immediate danger, but nevertheless I’m stuck standing at the ready…waiting…evaluating every potential threat and planning every counter-maneuver to ensure the win. The fight never comes, but the planning is tiresome. It’s exhausting being a ninja. 

And on one of these ninja days I was watching the birds at my bird feeder. We get all sort of birds at our feeders, from Mourning Doves to Indigo Buntings, we’ve developed quite a rookery. As I watched the birds carelessly eat their seeds, I thought to myself, It must be really nice being a bird. Birds don’t look like they’re heavy with sadness or weighed down by worry. All they have to do is eat and procreate. Sure there might be other things they do, but overall, it seems like a nice, simple life. And when I caught myself having that thought, that’s when I knew I had crossed the threshold from anxiety to despair.

And thank goodness for the Bible. I’m not alone in wishing I was a bird. We see a similar sentiment in the lament of Psalm 55. We’re not really sure of the exact circumstances of this Psalm, but we do know the Psalmist had a lot going on, and had a lot of anxiety and inner turmoil as a result. In verse 2 and 5 he or she says (1), “My thoughts trouble me and I am distraught…my heart is in anguish within me; fear and trembling have beset me; horror has overwhelmed me… (Psalm 55:2-5, NIV).”

And because of all this turmoil the psalmist then expresses, “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove. I would fly away and be at rest. I would flee far away and stay in the desert. I would hurry to my place of shelter far from the tempest and storm.” (Psalm 55:6-8, NIV). 

I don’t know where you find yourself today, but if you’re having an I-wish-I-was-a-bird day, then I’d like to suggest two things this Psalm recommends:

1. Express your feelings to God

The Psalmist in this psalm doesn’t hold anything back. From trash talking enemies to being honest about feeling terror, the psalmist lays it all out before God. Sometimes we think that we can’t really bring our emotions to God. Sure, we can praise God when we’re grateful, we can confess our sins when we’re bad, but complain? Moan? Wish ill on my enemies? That seems off-limits. Yet that’s the liberating part about the psalms: we are invited to share our innermost feelings with God, the deep hurt and rejection, the overwhelming fear and terror that we stuff down so that we can live our lives not looking like a crazy person. 

Friends, it’s time to bring it out of hiding. Lay it on the table while you sit with God and see what God has to say about it. 

Now a second recommendation of this Psalm:

2. Make a choice to move from despair to trust.

Please note (as evidenced by this Psalm): we have to go through step 1 before we can go to step 2. So often we are taught in our Christian culture to go straight to Step 2. Don’t be fearful, trust God. Don’t be angry, trust God. Don’t be sad, trust God. But when we skip over acknowledging our legitimate emotions, we find ourselves in denial rather than trust. In order to trust God, we must have something to trust God about and in order to have something to trust God about we have to understand the gravity of our situation.

"...when we skip over acknowledging our legitimate emotions, we find ourselves in denial rather than trust." 

Now, there is another end of this pendulum. Some of us are so comfortable with the idea of lament, feeling all the feels and unleashing all the anger, that we find ourselves getting stuck in these emotions. We know we’re justified in our feelings—he betrayed me, she lied to me, they hurt me—and we are. And, at some point—at the right point in our journey—we have to make a choice to move from our anger, our grief, our hurt to trust. 

There comes a point when we have to acknowledge that we can’t fly in circles around our problems and we can’t fly away from our problems. We need God’s help to face our problems and move forward with trust.

We need a “but” in our story. Verse 23 says, “But as for me, I trust in you" (Psalm 55:23, NIV, emphasis mine)

Finding this “but” in our story might look different for all of us. We might need help getting there. Help might look like lots of prayer sprinkled in with medication, a therapist, a pastor, a good meditation app—finding our “but” is a process, and it’s a necessary process.

So friend, feel all the feels and when you’re ready, put your hope and trust in the God who loves you, who hears you, and who died for you. Amen.

Inhale: I cast my cares upon the Lord
Exhale: and the Lord sustains me.

(Adapted from Psalm 55:22)

Notes:
(1) The NIV attributes the Psalm to David but the The Expositor's Bible Commentary did not specify authorship.
​
Work consulted for this devotion: Longman III, Tremper and Garland, David E. The Expositor's Bible Commentary Revised Edition Volume 5: Psalms. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2008.

There are peonies in front of my house that only bloom one-to-two weeks out of the whole year. After they bloom, the flowers start to look a little crazy, drop their petals, and are gone. I have to wait a long 51 weeks to see them again. When they bloom, they’re the most vibrant pink I’ve ever seen. I love them so much and get so excited to see them bloom every year even though we have such a short time together. 

These peonies teach me to enjoy the beauty of the present moment. So often my mind is in the past, batting away painful memories of rejection, hurt, or failure. And other days my mind is brimming with the future, occupied by possibilities, improvements, and plans.

And certainly there is beauty in the past and future. I can think back to last Mother’s Day when these peonies bloomed and my mom’s face lit up with delight looking at them. I can think to the future of next year, expectant for the beauty of this vibrant creation I’ll see again. But even more importantly, these flowers help me see beauty in the now. How sad would it be to only reminisce about or anticipate these peonies and miss the splendor right in front of me?

Someone else I know has enjoyed the beauty of flowers and the present moment: Jesus. In Matthew 6:28 Jesus asks the crowd “…why do you worry?” and talks about the beauty of flowers as an example of how we do not need to be occupied with future thoughts about how our needs will be met. And Jesus goes on to say in verse 34, “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own” (Matt 6:34, NIV). 

How cool is it that Jesus looked at flowers too? And when he did, it reminded him of staying in the present moment. One of the translations from the Greek of the word “worry” in this passage is to “take thought" (1). So when Jesus asks “why do you worry” I hear Jesus asking, “Why are you holding on to this thought? Why is this occupying space in your mind?” And perhaps an even more poignant question I hear is, “Why are you letting this thought distract you from me?”

And it’s not wrong to think about the past or worry about the future - God wouldn’t wire our brains with those capabilities if there wasn’t some beauty in them - everything God makes is good (see Creation story). The problem comes when we are so occupied with what once was or what will be that we miss God with us now. Remember one of Jesus' names? Immanuel, which means God with us (Matt 1:23, NIV). Of course, God was with us in the past and God will be with us in the future, but God doesn’t want us to miss God with us now. 

I'm still a work in progress, but this way of thinking has become a game changer for me. Previously to stifle my worries, I would often sit and think about how God had provided for me in the past to help me trust that God would provide for me in the future - and that is wonderful and there are so many places in the Bible that teach us to do that. But while doing this, I acted like God was far away, helpful in a distant time. What I wasn't doing was also acknowledging that God was with me in my worry at that very moment. Now when a worry creeps up, I try to remember to say "God, help me see where you are in this moment." 

"The problem comes when we are so occupied with what once was or what will be that we miss God with us now."

So friend, would you be willing to ask this question with me: What’s occupying my mind today? What thoughts am I holding onto that are distracting me from sensing God’s presence right now? 

And if you’re like me and you have an overactive mind that’s always working overtime and don’t know how to get out of the web of your thoughts, I like to start with a deep breath.

Today, I hope you’ll join me in slowing down the mind, taking a deep breath, and soaking in the majesty of God with us.

Try this breath prayer to remind you that God is with you right now. Inhale for 4 seconds, silently saying the corresponding words to yourself, then exhale for 4 seconds, silently saying the corresponding words to yourself.

Inhale: I am with you always
Exhale: To the very end of the age

(Adapted from Matthew 28:20, NIV)

Work Cited
(1) "μεριμνάω" Blue Letter Bible, Accessed 15 May 2021. https://www.blueletterbible.org/lang/lexicon/lexicon.cfm?Strongs=G3309&t=NIV

A weekend not long ago I was able to get away from Nashville and spend some time in an air bnb with a  beautiful view on Lookout Mountain. However, before we call this weekend a success story, I’d like to mention that we barely got there. We tried three different ways to get out of our neighborhood but each time got stuck in snow and ice and my husband had to shovel snow out from under our tires. After 40 minutes of looking like Floridians in a blizzard, a seasoned snow-driving neighbor kindly drove our car out of the neighborhood for us so we could get on good roads!

But by the time we got to the airbnb, it was already dark, so we couldn’t enjoy the view we worked so hard to get to. So needless to say the next morning I was excited to get up and finally see the gorgeous view from the online pictures. But this time, the morning fog was too dense. I couldn’t really see anything. I was so frustrated! After all our work to get here and waiting for the morning light to come back out, I still couldn’t see the view.

This obstructed view made me think of John 1:43-51, a time when my pal Nathanael couldn’t see quite clearly either.

Now, let me begin by saying I love Nathanael in this passage because, well, Nathanael has no filter. And don’t you just love a good chat with no filter of politeness? Maybe I’m alone here, but I can’t wait to leave that friends house and tell my husband what I really felt about that dinner discussion. Or the meeting after the meeting where my closest colleagues and I discuss how our pitch really went.

When Philip tells Nathanael he has found the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth, Nathanael candidly says, “Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” (John 1:46, NIV). I just love that. He’s just telling it as it is. There’s no filter. Nathanael’s just spouting out what comes off the top of his head based on his preconceived notions. Nazareth? Population: Who cares? Nazareth? Those country bumpkins with that crazy accent? Nazareth? Where my crazy cousin lives? So much unbridled skepticism and doubt wrapped up in this one statement! 

And the best part is, Nathanael’s skepticism and doubt didn’t stop him from being praised by Jesus. When Jesus meets Nathanael, Jesus says, “Here truly is an Israelite in whom there is no deceit” (John 1:47, NIV). 

Wow. Think about the slight Nathanael just said about Jesus a verse earlier. Nathanael couldn’t see Jesus clearly because Nathanael was blinded by the dense fog of his preconceived notions of who the Messiah would be. Many Jews thought the Messiah would be someone grand, someone who would conquer the Roman Empire and lift the Jews from their lowly status into a formidable people. The Messiah, their long-awaited leader, couldn’t possibly be from the rag-tag town of Nazareth.

But while Nathanael’s view was hazy and inaccurate, Jesus saw Nathanael clearly. And what Jesus sees surprises us. Jesus sees the good. Jesus says there is no deceit in Nathanael. Could this possibly be a reference to Nathanael’s candor from before? We don’t know for sure, but we do know that Jesus thought highly of Nathanael’s character.

Sometimes we think if Jesus saw us, if Jesus truly looked at us, that he would be disappointed. That he’d see the envy behind our lack of excitement for a friend. That he’d see the ungratefulness behind the words of our complaint. That he’d see the greed behind our reluctant giving. 

Jesus could have seen Nathanael’s lack of faith, his stubbornness, his put down, his totally wrong impression of salvation history - it was just one verse ago! But Jesus saw the good. And Jesus sees the good in you.

"But Jesus saw the good. And Jesus sees the good in you."

Jesus sees the good in you because your sin was left on the blood-stained cross. You don’t have to carry around the shame of the past, the failings of the present, or the inevitable mess-ups of the future, because your sins have been forgiven once for all through the death and resurrection of Jesus.

Even if you can’t see Jesus very clearly, if you’re clouded by doubts or skeptical about this Jesus from Nazareth, Jesus sees you. And Jesus sees that you are good. Sure, you have things to work on, and you’re encouraged to work on them! But that doesn’t define the foundation of who you are. To Jesus, you are a beautiful view. You are good. You are worthy. And you were worth dying for.

Say these phrases either silently or aloud, giving space to breath and receive between each one. 

• Thank you, God, for your love that is too wide, too deep, too high, and too low to comprehend. 
• May I love you with all my heart, soul, and mind.
• May I be open to receive your abounding love. 
• May every corner of my body and soul feel your love surrounding me. 
• May your love overflow through me to others.

Now, say these phrases slowly, naming a loved one. 

• Thank you, God, for your love that is too wide, too deep, too high, and too low to comprehend. 
• May [name] love you with all [his/her] heart, soul, and mind.
• May [name] be open to receive your abounding love. 
• May every corner of [name's] body and soul feel your love surrounding [him/her]. 
• May your love overflow through [name] to others.

Now, say these phrases slowly, naming someone you dislike or are in conflict with.

• Thank you, God, for your love that is too wide, too deep, too high, and too low to comprehend. 
• May [name] love you with all [his/her] heart, soul, and mind.
• May [name] be open to receive your abounding love. 
• May every corner of [name's] body and soul feel your love surrounding [him/her]. 
• May your love overflow through [name] to others.

​Amen.

In last week’s devotion we talked about wilderness as representing God’s wild and free spirit, not bound to human structure and institutions. But this week, we’re going to talk about wilderness as being a desolate and dark place. 
 
One day I decided that I should go to the actual wilderness to really understand wilderness in scripture. So, what that meant was I went to my backyard—not just my regular backyard—the backyard *behind* my fence. Behind the fence is this land in the middle of our neighborhood full of trees that’s meant to catch and drain water when it rains really hard. But when it’s not raining, it’s mostly dry. So, on a dry day, I put on my wilderness shoes and I went to the wilderness. As I pushed aside some thorny plants blockading the entrance, I stepped into the wilderness and was stunned at how vast it was. I couldn’t even see the other side where I knew there were houses. I had no idea there was such a big area back there. 
 
Then, I noticed an abandoned beach ball on the ground and wondered how long it had been there. Then all of a sudden, I saw a camouflage bucket hung on a tree with a string that looked like it was filled with ammo and looked like some sort of booby trap, so I got away from that as fast as possible. As I was walking away, I saw some leafy plant on the ground and thought – I wonder if that’s poison oak – what does poison oak look like again? Then, I started noticing holes in the ground, and thought to myself – do snakes live in holes? And just as I was about to freak out about snakes, I looked down, and there were hundreds of mosquitos flying around my legs. I lasted in the wilderness about five minutes.
 
Some of us are thrust into the wilderness not by our own choice, but by systemic injustices or devastating trauma. When I was thrust into the wilderness after a deep betrayal, I found that the wilderness of my soul was a lot like that trip to my backyard. Being thrust into the wilderness was like being shoved through the blockade of thorns, a series of painful, sharp, realizations that slashed at my joy and left me with open wounds. As I looked around my wilderness, I found that it was indeed vast, full of hurt with no end in sight.
 
I saw the abandoned beach ball, memories of a fun and beautiful life in the past that now looked lost and abandoned, never to be retrieved again. The triggers of my pain were like booby traps, spiraling me back to the beginning of my pain all over again, making me feel stuck, like there was no forward path to healing. The poison oak was reminders that spread my soul with bitterness, anger, and resentment. The snake holes were my fear that I’m not safe and I need to shield myself from any future pain. And the mosquitoes, the constant thoughts surrounding me, telling me that it was my fault this trauma happened, because I’m not good enough. 
 
This wilderness can be a dark place. In spiritual circles it’s called the dark night of the soul. It’s a place where we feel abandoned by God, wondering, “God, where are you?” Where are you in my cancer? Where are you in my grief? Where are you in my loneliness? Where are you in my depression?
 
Surely the Israelites were asking this same question when they were taken from their home, their sense of security and safety, taken away from their identity, away from their beloved temple, God’s dwelling place with humanity,[1]and exiled to Babylon. They too were in a dark place. Psalm 137 tells us they wept at the streams of Babylon, longing for their home. They couldn’t even sing songs because the pain of exile was too painful. 
 
But there is good news. We will be brought out of the wilderness.
 
The Israelites were eventually brought out of their captivity and returned to their land. In Advent readings for Week 3, we read Isaiah’s prophecy in chapter 35 that the Israelites will return to their home...singing! “Gladness and joy” will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away (Isa 35:10).
 
But the thing is, the journey out of the wilderness isn’t always what we expect. We don’t always see God working in our circumstances. And when we get to the other side of our healing, it’s not always rainbows and butterflies (to quote Maroon 5). 
 
That wasn’t the case for the Israelites, they didn’t quite have the glorious return they expected back home. They struggled to restore their lives.[2]And it’s not the case for me, I’m out of the throes of trauma yet still struggling with the aftermath of an anxiety disorder. And you may be able to relate. You may have gone through something terribly painful and thought you were healed, but every now and then the pain still stings your heart. 
 
Friend, I want to tell you today that joy and gladness does come. The joy and gladness we feel from being healed in this life isn’t necessarily because we’re done with the pain, but because we see the good that comes out it, because we’ve experienced the redemption that happens in this life, now.
 
Because of our pain, we now can empathize with others who have experienced what we’ve experienced, we can walk with someone who’s beginning the painful journey we just walked out of, and we can help people wait in the wilderness for complete deliverance. 
 
And during Advent and Christmas we celebrate our promise of complete deliverance, which is only possibly because Jesus became flesh and dwelt among us. And because Jesus became what we are, he knows every painful circumstance we go through. Jesus understands pain, abandonment, betrayal, and sickness. And our promise of complete deliverance was fulfilled when Jesus was crucified on the cross, was resurrected on the third day, and ascended into heaven. Jesus became a curse for us so what we could be freed from the curse of this world (Gal 3:13), so that we could be freed from the wildernesses of this life, let out of captivity of Sin and Death, and brought back from exile into God’s presence, so that we can enter God’s Kingdom with singing. Amen. 
 
Work Referenced:
​
[1]“Temple” The Bible Project. Accessed 13 December 2020. https://bibleproject.com/learn/temple/

[2]McCann, J. Clinton JR. “The Book of Psalms” in The New Interpreters Bible Commentary. Edited by Leander E. Keck et al. Abingdon Press: Nashville 2015, 537.

A few times a year, my mom and I head to a mountain cabin outside Chattanooga where there is the most beautiful vista and a stunning sunrise. When it’s warm, we do yoga, meditation, and prayer practices outside on the deck overlooking the mountains. We encounter God there and feel centered and overcome with peace. It’s interesting that we leave our respective homes and our churches to come to this place to experience God. It’s not that we don’t encounter God at home or in our church, but there’s something special about being in the wilderness that enables us to feel God’s presence is near.

During Advent readings, the theme of wilderness comes up when we read about John the Baptist in Matthew 3. John was a prophet who proceeded Jesus and preached in the wilderness, telling everyone he could that the Kingdom of God was near. I always picture John as a peculiar fellow, a man who’s a little off-kilter and would definitely stand out in a crowd. Kind of a Tarzan of sorts. Scripture is very specific to tell us that John wore clothes made of camel hair and ate locusts and wild honey (Matt 3:4). And what especially caught my attention about this passage is that it says people left the city of Jerusalem and all regions of Jordan to come to John out in the wilderness to hear about Jesus’ first and second coming (Matt 4:5). 

Like my mom and I pilgrimage to the mountain cabin to encounter God’s presence, the people of Jerusalem and all regions of Jordan also left their homes and their temple to hear John the Baptist share God’s truth outside of their traditions and religious institutions. 

Throughout scripture, the wilderness has many important implications and meanings, but in this instance, the wilderness reminds me of God’s wild and free spirit. God rarely follows human-made rules and structures. God could have chosen a well known Pharisee or a member of the Sanhedrin to prophesy about Jesus’ two comings, but God chose John the Baptist who preached outside of the Temple and ate the food of the poor.(1) 

God could have ensured that Jesus was born as someone of noble birth, born to a King to inherit a thrown. But instead, Jesus was born to a humble woman named Mary, who was almost disowned by her husband, and who had her baby in a cave surrounded by livestock. 

God could have chosen people with influence to be his disciples. People with powerful jobs who already had followers. But Jesus chose seemingly ordinary men—from the sunburned fisherman to the disliked tax collector—for his inner circle. 

God is not against institutions and structures, Jesus taught in synagogues for example (Luke 4:15), and God cannot be contained by institutions and structures—Jesus also taught on mountainsides (Matt 5:1), in houses (Luke 5:18), and on boats (Luke 5:3).

"God cannot be contained by institutions and structures..."

This Advent season, as you prepare your heart to celebrate Christ’s first coming and eagerly anticipate Christ’s second coming, grow closer to God by looking for God in the wilderness. Take time to find God in all things: in the songs on the radio, in the memories of your ornaments, in the joy of watching a child open a present. Open your mind to see God where you may not usually look. And the wilderness of your life may be a beautiful vista, but it also may be a desolate darkness. Regardless of what your wilderness looks like, you can find God there.

Work Referenced
(1) Boring, Eugene M. The New Interpreters Bible Commentary Volume VII. Edited by Leander E. Keck et. al. Abingdon Press: Nashville, 2015, 90.

Hi friends! So glad to be back with you during this Advent season. In the weeks leading up to Christmas I’ll be doing a dislocated devotion series about the themes of Advent. This week’s theme is waiting. 

My husband and I have been talking about buying a sectional for our house for about four years now. We have a nice couch we received from a family member but it’s not the kind of couch that you can fall asleep on while watching a movie. So after four years we finally bought the sectional in early November and planned to transform one of our rooms into a nice relaxing media room. We’re so excited but we can’t get the sectional delivered to us until January 21st. And my husband and I are very much immediate satisfaction people. We would have wanted them to deliver the sectional same day. But nope, we have to wait.

And so, we’ve waited. And while we’ve waited, we have cleaned the carpets and painted the room it’s going in. We’ve tinted the windows to prepare the room to be a four season room. We’ve gotten appraisals on moving a vent in that room. We’ve bought rugs and pillows to decorate. We handpicked the fabric for our homemade ottoman. We’ve decided on our artwork. And we’re even talking about repainting more furniture in the room before the sectional comes. Our waiting has been long, but it’s also been very active and productive. 

And it dawned on me that this is exactly what Advent is all about. Advent is a time in the church calendar where we have an intentional time of waiting. We prepare our hearts while we wait to celebrate Christmas and the remembrance of the Word becoming flesh so that the whole world could be redeemed. And we also have an intentional time of waiting for Jesus’ second coming, where Matthew tells us Christ will come on the “clouds of heaven, with power and great glory” (Matt 24:30 NIV). 

And while we wait for both of these times, we wait with an active waiting. We clean the carpets of our hearts. We refinish the walls of our spirit, we decorate our souls with compassion and we choose to wear the fabric of Christ. 

"...we wait with an active waiting." 

The waiting for the second coming may last a whole lifetime (or it might not!), but in this specific Advent season, this waiting can practically look like choosing a spiritual discipline to practice during the 25 days of Advent. If you were part of the spiritual thanksgiving challenge, you can choose one of those practices to practice every day through Christmas. For me, I’m choosing intercessory prayer so you can hold me accountable to it! 

And you also may be waiting for something else. Waiting for answered prayer. Waiting for a diagnosis. Waiting for reconciliation with a family member. Waiting to not feel so lonely anymore. 

And while you wait, you can actively wait with hope. Hope that we can be transformed to look and act like Jesus who, in the words of Athanasius, became what we are so that we might become what he is. Hope that, like Jesus, our lives can be used to heal, comfort, and lift up others. Hope that every painful and tragic circumstance can be used for something good - and hope that God will bring all things into perfect redemption and restoration in the kingdom to come. 

So today, though the waiting may seem long, you can choose how you’ll wait. So how will you wait?

As some of you may know, a few weeks ago I spent some time at a dude ranch. I had ridden horses before, but this place really helped me understand the ins and the outs of horseback riding, from how to hold the reigns to the position of your feet to different riding techniques. You could take group lessons and learn the fundamentals all the way up to advanced horseback riding. However, you couldn’t take the advanced class until you’d passed what they call a lope check which is where you get the horse to consistently lope, where the front legs and back legs each gallop together (rather than a trot where all four legs go down at different times). 

The lope check was difficult, I knew I wasn’t ready for it. The first time I had loped on a horse in an intermediate lesson, I was scared for my life. I just wanted to stay atop the horse and stay alive, not keep doing it for fun. Some people who came to the ranch would fail the lope check 6 times before they passed it, all because their foot was bent the wrong way. These wranglers took it seriously, and also prepared you for it along the way. And even when you passed the lope check, it meant you were qualified for advanced training. 

Building up to the lope check reminded me of Luke 9 when Jesus sends out the 12 disciples by themselves for the first time. Before this, the disciples had followed Jesus and watched Jesus cast out a demon, heal a hemorrhaging woman, and raise a young girl from the dead. Now, it was their turn. They’d gone through beginner lessons of healing 101 and intermediate lessons of demon casting 202, and now it was time for the lope check of discipleship. Would what they learned help heal the sick and further the Kingdom of God?

This might feel an awful lot like where you are today. You feel that God has been training you, giving you unique life experiences, encounters with specific people, and special spiritual gifts in order to further God’s reign. You’ve found that you have a passion for racial reconciliation, for writing that book, for starting that small group. 

And now, it’s time for the lope check. You know it’s time to do something you’ve never done before and you might feel scared and unqualified. And to be honest, I’m there with you in that feeling right now. 

But I want to assure you, that you are ready and qualified because God is your teacher. And get this, one of my favorite scenes is during the transfiguration, where God talks to Jesus before his crucifixion. Even the Son of God was trained in the temples and met by God the Father for help in his mission. 

And the good news is, you are never left alone on your mission. You’ve been given the power of the Holy Spirit to remind you what God has taught you, to help you with what to ask God for, and to be comforted when things go awry. 

"...you are never left alone on your mission."

Your lope check might not go well the first time. You might be stuck in a trot, fumbling through pastoral care, your first counseling session, or your first time telling your story rather than achieving the lope. You might make some mistakes, you’re human, you’ve never done this before. But like the disciples came back to Jesus after they were sent out, you are never done with your training. It’s lifelong. You’ll always be able to come back to Jesus to learn, to grow, and to continue in confidence that you are qualified to further God’s kingdom. 

So whether you’re waiting to start that clinic, waiting to get that schooling, waiting to write that song, if you are doing it to further God’s kingdom, you can stand in confidence that God will prepare you for it and will carry you through it. 

Let’s pray: Gracious Teacher, thank you for preparing us for this Christian life through your Word and through the power of the Holy Spirit. Help us to use what you’ve given us, our gifts and our talents and our experiences to heal people’s lives and further your Kingdom. We ask this in Jesus’ name, Amen.

Reflect: What is it that God's equipping you for? Have you been praying for the next step? Have you spoken to a spiritual director or pastor for guidance and discernment?

When anyone ever asks me where I’m from, I start to get really awkward because I don’t really know what to say. Honestly, I’ve lost count of how many places I’ve lived - I think I’m up to 12 places?! And no place has ever felt like home. I can’t tell you how jealous I am of the people who have been friends with their best friend since kindergarten or who have memories of being a kid in their same house when they come home to see their parents. I don’t have anything like that. I’ve always felt like a gypsy.

And with the gypsy life also comes no sports loyalty. How can you root for the home team if you’ve never had a home?! But all that changed when I decided to get my Masters degree from Duke University. I decided that I was going to call the Blue Devils my home team (and yes, that is all sorts of ironic to root for the Blue Devils while studying theology!). 

One evening while I was having a drink at Tennessee Brewworks, my “home” team was playing basketball against their biggest rival on the TV (and I’m such a fan that this took me by surprise and I had no idea they were playing beforehand…). The game was amazing. There were so many last-second three-pointers (is that the right term?!) and it came down to overtime where Duke scored another three points as the clock hit zero to win. I was hooping and hollering, standing from my seat, so excited to be rooting for the team that had just played an incredible game. I was so into it, that even after the game, the employees came over to me and asked me if it was OK to change the channel. I graciously and magnanimously told them that was OK. 

For a small moment, I finally felt what it was like to have a home. I felt like I had a connection to something bigger than myself. I felt like I had loyalty. I felt like I had camaraderie with the community of fans who were watching the game. I felt like I belonged. 

And that small moment of feeling like I belonged is what I hold onto when I think of what all eternity will feel like, because that is what God’s presence brings us—a home. Psalm 68 tells us that God gives those who feel lost or empty or abandoned a place to call home. God is a parent-figure to those who have no parents. God is a protector to those who have no protection. God is the mother-hen who lets her chicks nestle up to her warm feathers and protects them from danger.

...that is what God’s presence brings us—a home.

We all have a need to belong. But so often, the world can make us feel like we don’t belong. Sometimes we feel like no one understands us. Sometimes we are abandoned by those who were supposed to protect us. Some of us have been deeply betrayed by the ones we love. And sometimes, we just feel like the odd-one-out while everyone else has a place to belong. 

No matter where you find yourself today, know that you have a place in God’s home. And I can’t wait to live there with you forever.

Let's pray: Holy God, Thank you for loving us so much that your presence gives us a home. Help us to be reminded of that home today as we hold onto the hope of having that home for eternity. Amen.

Reflect: Have you ever experienced finding home in prayer with God? How can you cultivate this sense of home now? Can you make a sacred space in your home? Carry something to remind you of your eternal home?

If you follow me on social media, you may have seen that I was in the desert of Arizona on vacation this past week. At first, I was so taken aback by the terrain. There was obviously no grass, and I wasn’t used to the landscape being so sparse with tan dirt and quartz rocks everywhere. The special part about the desert I was in was that we were surrounded by saguaro cacti—the kind of cacti you see pictured with the two arms that are so popular — which are only found in the Sonoran desert and cannot live anywhere else. I had no idea these cacti were so rare. I thought they must have been all over the west! But nope, only in this special region.** 

What was so precious to me about these cacti is that they need a nursing tree with shade in order to grow. Without their nursing tree, they won’t survive. The most common nursing tree in the area was the velvet mesquite tree. And this isn’t just any tree. The mesquite tree has a root system that reaches down in the ground up to 180 ft to reach the water bed so that the tree can survive in the desert. The mesquite tree has no need for the saguaro cactus nor is it adversely affected by it, the mesquite tree simply stands tall and gives life to other plants.

Staring at this nursing tree in the middle of the desert reminded me of the hemorrhaging woman in Luke 8. Scripture tells us that this woman had been bleeding for 12 years and spent all her money seeking out doctor after doctor, searching far and wide for help to no avail (Mark 5:26). 

In Luke 8 we find her in a huge crowd, making her way toward Jesus. She must have been pushed and tossed around by the mob scene, but nevertheless she found her way to Jesus, touched him, and was immediately healed. 

We don’t know much about this woman’s religious knowledge, but I doubt she sat around debating the validity of infant baptism, the nuances of predestination, or possible tribulation theories. All we know is that she had the right kind of knowledge—the knowledge that proximity to Jesus changes lives. Her faith told her that if she could just get close to Jesus, if she could just grasp his robe, her life would never be the same. 

And if we have that same faith, if we make it our top priority to be close to Jesus, our lives will never be the same either. Like the saguaro cactus needs the velvet mesquite tree close by in order to provide shade so it can flourish, we need Jesus close by so that we can flourish. And like the baby Saguaro cactus needs to be by a living tree that has its roots 180 ft deep in the waterbed to grow, we need to be by Jesus, who tells us he is the source of living water (John 4:14).

If you want to know what this Christian life is all about, it’s all about being close to Jesus. And this isn’t just a Sunday school closeness or a mission trip closeness, this is a lifelong closeness, an everyday closeness, a closeness that’s not a job, but a closeness we can’t resist.

If you want to know what this Christian life is all about, it’s all about being close to Jesus.

Some of us are skeptical about Christianity because we’ve been burned by the church or the Christians we know seem to cause more harm than good, and if this is you, I want to encourage you to turn your focus to Jesus. Ignore those who are caught up in petty debates or lists of don’ts and simply draw close to Jesus. Read about Jesus’ life in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Grasp tightly to the robe of Jesus and watch as Jesus heals the blind, stands up for the poor, forgives after being crucified, and restores those who reject him. 

As you stand close to Jesus, your life will be transformed. Your wounds will heal. Your trauma will be redeemed. You‘ll start to look different because you’ll look like Jesus. You’ll be clothed in Christ. Before you know it, your words will heal. You’ll help others see redemption. And you will catch a glimpse of the Kingdom to come.

Let’s pray: Jesus, we ask that you give us the desire to come close to you. Teach us how to look like you, how to act like you, and how to love like you. Amen.

Reflect: What are the attributes of Jesus that make you want to be close to Jesus? 

**All cacti/tree knowledge is passed down in the oral tradition from my naturalist instructor, Marcia, from Tanque Verde Ranch.
​