Category Archives: Faith

Oh how the world spins madly on.

I’m having trouble with writing here.

What to say when you’ve been given a new set of eyes?

I could write about our move out of one house and into another. I could write about the emotion of signing dotted lines and turning the page and starting new and cardboard boxes. But then I just think of the kids I saw on the side of the street who have no home to move in and out of.

I could write about Rowan and his inability to speak, and how it’s tying me up in knots of anxiety and it winds him up into frustrated frenzy. But then I think of the kids I met whose mothers abandoned them and nobody cared about whether or not they spoke. I think of the silent kids.

I could write about the long days and heavy hearts and how summer has outworn its welcome here. About how rafting season has once again taken its toll and we are ragged and worn through. But then I think of the family of 10 and the dad doesn’t have a job.

I could write about politics and how I’m fed up and nothing works and isn’t it all a joke? But then I think of the people who live under oppression with no freedom and even the policemen who swear to protect are crooked and corrupt and rob the dignity out from underneath their people.

I could write about our education system and how it doesn’t work and how I’m terrified of making choices for my child based on the options that we’re given. But then I think about the kids who don’t have options. I think about the young girls who have been killed because they want to learn. Or the kids who walk for two hours, some without shoes, to a school with little to no educational supplies. Or the teachers who live on less than a dollar a day, but continue to do so because they believe in the power of education.

Nothing sits right anymore. Nothing is the same. I hear words like “poverty fatigue” and it makes me laugh because we know absolutely nothing of the fatigue that poverty burdens on its victims.

What a horrible term. Poverty fatigue. Too tired to read about the poor.

You know what? I’m tired, too. I’m tired of being reminded everywhere I turn. I’m tired of not knowing how to reconcile what I experienced and how I live as an American. I’m tired of never knowing what to say.

But my friend, Ann, told me God has called me into this place. She told me to stay broken. Because we’re never broken for nothing. It’s always for something and it’s always for His good Name and Glory. I cling to that when I don’t know what to say.

I don’t want to become numb to the seeing. I don’t want to become desensitized to the pain. I need to know it and feel it because that’s fuel for action. I got my shot in the arm and every day I rip off the band aid with remembering.

Still, the world spins madly on and I spin, too, here in this life I’ve got with the furniture and air conditioned rooms and a fridge full of food. It’s all a gift, so maybe now I just work to steward it well. To count them out, one by one, each slice of good that sits on my plate.

Counting, again. 

291. Chilly mornings.

292. Finger paint & how it rarely ends up on paper.

293. New ideas for fresh ink on both skin and paper.

294. Modern medicine.

295. A cold Dr. Pepper on a hot day by the pool.

296. Shoes.

297. Small beads that help me remember to pray.

298. Dogs that snuggle when he’s gone.

299. Goodnight stories and goodnight kisses. 

300. Fresh starts.

 

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Posted on September 5, 2011 by Nish

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Posted in Bolivia, Everyday Life, Faith, Multitudes

Fighting apathy.

I bring the leather-bound book to my lap while I’m sitting on the couch in the early morning with my coffee. It’s not long before every good intention seeps into the cushions and I shift the weight of the book onto the table next to my propped-up feet. I grab my Kindle instead and choose to read Tina Fey. I prefer her sense of humor over the Apostle Paul.

Can I get real with you for a minute?

It’s been a long time since I’ve picked up my Bible and actually read it. And you know what? I’m not even sure why. My usual excuse is time, or the lack thereof. But honestly, I don’t really have that excuse anymore. Life here is slow in the summers. I could grab the gilded pages and thumb through the stories quickly while the small boy runs happily through the sprinklers in the yard. I could read it during nap time. I could read it a LOT during the day, actually.

But, I don’t. And it hasn’t really bothered me until now… some odd weeks later.

It was only yesterday morning when Rowan abandoned his trucks to jump on the couch and sit next to me. I was holding the Kindle, reading, and he started to reach over and push the buttons. I closed the case and looked into his tiny brown eyes and big, toothy smile.

I was immediately struck with fear.

You see, Rowan is growing up in a house that loves Jesus. He goes to church, plays in the kids’ ministry, and he’ll grow, learn, and grow some more. And one day, when he starts learning and remembering all the stories in the Bible, I’m afraid that one day, he’s going to ask me this question:

“Hey mom, what’s your favorite story in the whole Bible?”

And I will sit frozen for a moment, unsure of what to say because I’m so unfamiliar with the stories in those same gilded pages I traded in for “Bossypants.” I can’t choose a favorite and tell him honestly because I simply don’t know them. Not like I should.

And how in the world am I supposed to teach this kid about God when I’m so apathetic towards learning about Him myself?

Apathetic. I never want to be apathetic.

So, I’m saying it out loud, for the world to see: I’m working on fighting my apathy. I’m trying to be better.

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Posted on June 16, 2011 by Nish

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Posted in Faith, Parenting

On transition.

I am unsettled.

Living in a state of transition for the past twelve months has me scattered and wavering. I find myself afraid of sitting in one place for too long… I shouldn’t get comfortable if things are going to shift and change again… tomorrow? Next month? I can never tell anymore. I’m not rooted down, grounded or solid. I feel weak in the knees and my eyes dart from side to side, looking for the next thing that will knock me over. I can’t cling too tight to the life we have in Portland, we’re bound to leave it at some point… but for where? Utah, like we dream & hope for? Or southern Oregon… again… for another summer?

I am tired.

The realtor calls and tells me someone else wants to come look at the house. I drag out the vacuum and dust rags, the mop and the broom. The Clorox wipes come too and don’t forget the toilet brushes. I get to work and scrub baseboards and try to get rid of the dog hair. Every mirror and countertop is wiped down and the window shades are lifted open, only to showcase the dark grey Portland skies. It feels like nighttime so often and the need to keep things tidy is wearing me thin. I’m tired of not being able to really live in this house. So much work for no reward. It’s exhausting.

I have doubting Thomas eyes.

I am losing hope. It’s fading into black and summer is fast approaching, which carries our deadline for our move to Salt Lake City. Will someone buy the house in time? Or will we be forced to wait another six hot summer months? People say “Trust God’s timing.” But I have a hard enough time trusting the Invisible, let alone the supposed watch on His wrist. With every passing day, every push of the vacuum, and every failed showing, hope slips further away and the distance between this house and the community in Salt Lake is overwhelming.

I am elsewhere.

I couldn’t sit through Easter services without my mind wandering East. I’m having trouble being here. Present. In the moment. I daydream and I worry. I’m focused on the future because I’m sitting in this weird space of going, but not there yet. My friend counts gifts and I try but all I can manage to count are minutes passed, then the tears come. I look skyward and palms open, I try to just receive and be present, but the palms turn to fists and I shout at Him, asking WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!

I can’t let go.

This desire to pack up our home, sell it, and move to Salt Lake City is a desire that was gifted. It was small at first, nothing but a faint light, a flicker. That flame has been fanned and we are burning and aching to move, to be a part of the community that already knows our names. So, in spite of the fading hope, the tiredness and the doubt, I still have this small hope… that someday, we’ll go. I wish I understood why this journey is becoming a marathon for us… when it seemed like a sprint to everyone else who made the same move. But, I don’t understand. But maybe that’s the point – not understanding, but clinging to hope anyway.

So I’m choosing to not let go of hope that one day, we’ll make it to our destination.

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Posted on April 26, 2011 by Nish

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Posted in Faith, Home

On the bigger picture – and choosing to ignore it.

It was only a month ago when a bit of news came out that the TV network, ABC, was creating a show called “Good Christian Bitches.” (And actually, Kristin Chenoweth has since signed on for the pilot). As you can probably imagine, the conservative, vocal evangelical crowd went on a feeding frenzy. The Parents Television Council said this new show “blatantly attacks the world’s largest faith,” and the American Family Association stated that it will “mock people of faith.” A petition started swirling around the internet, Twitter lit up like wildfire and swarms of Christians sat aghast, shocked that a major television network would demonize Christian women in that way, let alone use such a degrading term as the “b” word.

I sat back and thought, “Really?”

This doesn’t really surprise me. This particular group of evangelicals is always quick to latch onto talking points, point their fingers and scream from the rooftops. But, in the midst of their petition-passing and pagan-branding, an underlying problem remains undiscussed and ignored… because *gasp* that would require us to look in the mirror at our own character.

The big problem isn’t that ABC is creating a TV show called “Good Christian Bitches.”

The problem is that a very large community of Christian women have given both the author of the original book AND the network enough ammo to create a show based around the idea that there are actually swaths of Christian Bitches.

I can only imagine some of the culturally pointed humor that will inevitably be written into the script.

Am I happy or excited that a show like this will most likely come to fruition and see its time on the air? No. But I am more grieved by the fact that a lot of the content will probably hit a little too close to home, rather than the flippant use of the word “bitch.”

Protesting the show is only a band-aid solution to a much bigger and more prevalent problem. When will we take the time to start addressing the (dare I say, accurate?) perception of Christian women? When will we stop gossiping, judging and demeaning? When will we decide to lose the know-it-all and self-righteous attitude? Until we start looking at (and fixing) these problems, shows and books like “Good Christian Bitches” will be all-too familiar. And sadly, those mediums will paint an all-too true picture of our collective character.

And it’s depressing to see this type of band-aid action seep its way into much more important cultural and political issues.

Take abortion, for example. (Oh yeah, I’m going there.)

We spend gobs of time and effort protesting organizations and businesses like Planned Parenthood, we debate the use of federal funding towards abortion, we write our Senators, asking them to pass legislation to criminalize the act. “Down with Roe v. Wade!” We yell angrily.

I’m not saying that standing firm and supporting the pro-life cause isn’t a worthy one (yes, I am a pro-lifer). But, I wonder if all of these actions toward eliminating abortion are only acting as another band-aid?

What if we took it a step further and evaluated sex-education programs in schools? Eighteen percent of U.S. women obtaining abortions are teenagers; those aged 15-17 obtain 6% of all abortions, teens aged 18-19 obtain 11%, and teens under age 15 obtain 0.4%.

Or what if we take it a step further and evaluate what we’re teaching about sex in our churches? Did you know that 37% of women obtaining abortions identify as Protestant and 28% as Catholic?

Or, what if we took it to the next level and, arguably, the most profound underlying problem: poverty. Forty-two percent of women obtaining abortions have incomes below 100% of the federal poverty level.

I think there’s a bigger picture here and I think we’re choosing to ignore it. The statistics are staggering. The link between abortions and the state of poverty is only growing. What if, instead of standing with our signs outside of abortion centers, we used our collective voice and resources to bring good, affordable healthcare to our country’s poorest neighborhoods? What if we bent over backwards trying to eliminate unjust discrimination? What if we worked to improve education, schools, and professional opportunities for the poor?

What if we took a step back, looked at the bigger picture and for once, chose to NOT ignore it any longer?

When will we ever quit missing the point?

__________

All abortion statistics can be found on the Guttmacher Institute website.

 

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Posted on April 5, 2011 by Nish

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Posted in Blog, Faith

My review of Rob Bell’s new book, “Love Wins.”

I finished reading “Love Wins” last night, and since some of you have asked, I thought I’d offer my two cents:

I liked it. Two thumbs up.

 

I think he asked good questions.

I think it’s an important book.

I like his style of writing.

 

Do I think he’s a heretic? No.

Do I think he’s a universalist? No.

Do I think he loves & follows Jesus? Yes.

Do I think he loves people? Yes.

 

That about sums it up.

Posted on March 25, 2011 by Nish

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Posted in Faith

The pulse of prayer. [On Lent]

“O Lord, let my soul rise up to meet you
as the day rises to meet the sun.”

 

The words beat. Pulse. Breathe. The rhythm starts my day as I dive into the pages of the linen-covered book, the sturdy weight of it in the palms of my cold morning hands. I want those words to become air, sucked violently into my lungs, gasping for Life.

I feel His labored breath in the words these forty days. The steps of his feet on the dirt road to Golgotha beat steady with the rhythm of these united prayers.

I wonder if He knew, when he rode into Jerusalem. Did he see our faces, even today? Did he know what was coming? Surely he knew, for He was The Word and the prophesies were written like ink into his skin. Did he hear the harsh words I’ve spoken? Did he see my judgment eyes? Did he see the way I lose my temper and slip into contempt? Surely he saw them. I see those things staring back at me in the mirror every morning and I wish his Dad had taken that cup from him. In the dark of Gethsemane he asked, and I wonder, just days later, if he saw my darkness while the wood splintered his back.

Now my breathing is labored and I lose sight of the thorns on His brow – they go hidden behind stacks of dishes in the sink and baskets of laundry on the floor.

I feel frenzied and I want to crawl out of my own skin for distancing myself from him. I pray. Gravity finds me and so does He.

“Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.”

 

I spill hot tears when I think about the journey he took to make the sacrifice. It was a sacrifice that only he could make and I look in the mirror at my sin-stained soul and I am undeserving. We all feel that way as we approach the beautiful darkness on that Good Friday. But here I sit, with a bold community reading the prayers together and our voices ring out and cry out and I believe he hears. He sees our hearts split in two like the temple curtain and with each prayer – morning, midday and evening – he mends us together and hems us in and raises that banner over our heads again – the one that says “Love” and we are made whole and a bright white so pure.

This practice and pacing of liturgy hit my fresh eyes & ears… at first I didn’t feel it. But weeks in, I feel it now – the craving – the desire to read and speak prayers, knowing they are echoed on the shores of the Atlantic and in the spring snow of the midwest. I may sit in my living room, but my heart screams these words out alongside a community and I remember that I am not alone in this journey to remember his sacrifice.

_________________

This post is written as part of the 40 Day Community, started by Megan at SortaCrunchy.

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Posted on March 24, 2011 by Nish

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Posted in Faith

Broken, messy me.

I wrote that last post and got honest and my skin still feels a little tingly and raw. I would look at the computer from the doorway, knowing there was more there – more to write, more to say, more to bleed. But I just couldn’t bring myself to sit down and tap, tap, tap the keys into words, into lines, into story.

I finally brought myself to the chair and sat down.

Then, the screen lit on fire with hate and debate, believers in the One Body turning on each other with pointed fingers and flaming tongues and the big hard stones that fit all-too comfortably in the palms of hands. A guy decided to ask some questions about hell and then an angry chorus decided to condemn him there, like it was their gavel to strike. It appeared that the angry mob forgot that the Judge’s seat has been occupied for quite some time.

And by quite sometime, I mean eternity.

I backed away from the screen and out of the doorway. I can’t write today.

Lord, will you tell your story again? The one about Grace and Love? We need to hear it. Again. Today. Tomorrow.

He speaks peace and courage and I sit down, again. I click and read the news.

Gunfire and protests light up the streets of villages and civilians take up arms to protect themselves and Libya burns. A dictator moves east out of Tripoli and seeks to silence the masses. They fight on the ground while oil bubbles underneath. It seems the price of gasoline ticks upward with every gunshot and we lose sight of the faces who fight for a voice in their own country. The rising numbers cloud our vision. We can’t see the hospitals overflowing.

I am angry at the evil and I don’t want to write out anger. I can’t write today.

Lord, will you rescue the oppressed? Will you strike out evil?

He promises that He reigns and He loves, so I sit down and try again.

Then the ground quaked violent and the seas lifted and poured over houses and I weep. Explosions and fire and Chernobyl in the backs of our minds, we sit on pins and wait for rescue. For the hope of a nation to emerge from the water and rubble. Thousands dead. Thousands missing. Creation groans and so do we. There are no words to describe the devastation. I just sit slack-jawed and wonder aloud…

Lord, won’t you come? Please let it be today.

All of the things I wanted to write for so long seemed so small and talk is cheap. It’s too easy for me to mouth off and spit fire and let my heart fall off my sleeve. How do you write in the midst of the world’s ache? I cannot turn a blind eye to the scene unfolding on screens and across oceans – so what do you say? What do you write? I find myself all tongue-tied and unable to transcribe the language of my heart.

My heart needs healing and hope.

But maybe the typing out words can bring hope? Not just to myself, but to others who might stumble here and read. I am strengthened by this thought and my mind reels and I realize that all I have to bring to the table is broken, messy me and the broken, messy world.

But there He is, I see him there, at the table. At the screen. All he asks is that I come and bring my whole self to Him and He’ll do the mending. And I read the words in His Story and He tells me to speak so that others might see. So that others might believe. So that others might be built up.

So, in the midst of the stones thrown, the gunfire and the earthquakes, I’m going to choose to continually bring my shattered self here, proclaiming unending hope, because I’m not sure I know what else to do right now.

 

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Posted on March 15, 2011 by Nish

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Posted in Faith

Job.

The gilded pages and burgundy leather always draw me in and the weight of The Book feels comfortable and sturdy in my palms. Candle lit and music playing softly, I settle in quiet, sinking into the cushion of the oversized brown armchair in our living room… I grab the knitted blanket for good measure.

There’s something familiar and comfortable about opening up The Bible. I know the stories and the names and the lessons from Sunday school, but every time I sit down to rifle through its thin pages, I somehow never know what to expect. Every page is an adventure, you see. Whether I’m reading about the animals on the ark, or Ruth’s devotion to Naomi, or the Sermon on the Mount, something comes alive and all things are new.

Except that one book. That one story. That one guy that forces me to look in the mirror and take a deep look at the strength of my faith.

Job.

I have always avoided reading the book of Job… rather like the plague. I know the story. And it is a remarkable story of faith in the face of suffering and I avoid it because my faith lies empty and barren in the face of my own small plight.

If my husband and child were taken from me, I know in my heart that my lips would never utter the words “Blessed be the name of the Lord” in that moment. And I fear of getting a rock-solid faith. I’m afraid that if my faith deepens enough to arrive at that place, that’s when God will treat me like Job and allow the deep suffering. I know in my heart that God doesn’t work that way necessarily, but the fear still grips tight and I lay here with the Scriptures opened to Job 1… struggling to read the first verse.

As I sit here and scribble out words, I am beginning to question this fear. Why do I allow it to hold such power? Where does it come from? Is it because I know… once I hear and see, that I am responsible? When the Word comes down and is made known, we stand at a fork in the road – do we read and be changed? Or do we read and remain unchanged? I find myself time and time again falling endlessly into the latter without even noticing.

What do we do with the fear? Just like writing, we write anyway. When we are fearful of what lies in Scripture, we read anyway. We push onward and we give thanks and we offer up a little bit of ourselves by being vulnerable and honest with our Maker.

So, because I want to live with less fear, I’m choosing to read Job with fresh eyes and a tender heart. I want to learn of Job’s fearlessness and faith. And I want to learn of God’s sovereignty and goodness. I pray that God will show me new ways to be faithful & mindful of Him everyday.

But Lord, I pray that you’ll be gentle with me.

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Posted on February 8, 2011 by Nish

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Posted in Blog, Faith

Uncharted.

Resolutions and singular words and lives seemingly wiped clean like a chalkboard at the end of a long school day. How to define a year? How to step forward into the unknown and the endless numbered tomorrows?

Friends of mine make lists and pick diets and resolve to change at the start of the year, but the weeks tick by and before they know it, they are entering Lent and the same items that made their first list? They reappear shrouded in forty days of fasting before Easter.

My friend Ann says that she names her years “because each one births a different life that needs to be raised up and remembered.” This is how I wanted to properly step foot into the new year. I read her words, and the beautiful heart of my friend Alece, who also puts forth one word each year.

“Yes. I need to name this year,” I think quietly to myself. And I think deep and long into the dark soft of my pillow at night, praying for that word to be revealed. “Lord, just whisper it. I promise I’ll hear it.”

My mind turns over and over and so does my body through the sleepless nights of the holiday weeks.

Finally, I land on a word. Just one. Surely this is it.

But that word leans into another one, and the next one is linked to the previous and before I know it, the dominoes fall and words spill out, my mind a full canister of thoughts and hopes for the new year.

I can’t seem to name the year. I can’t just narrow it down to one word. I am astounded at the resounding clarity of Ann and Alece, and I wish I could join in. But, I can’t.

And I’m okay with that.

Maybe it’s the spirit of the new year, the season of fresh starts and renewed vision and overflowing exercise gyms… I’m not sure… but I want to move forward with a sense of purpose for this year. So, here are some things I want to focus on throughout the year. You’ll see these themes crop up here as I learn and shift and life moves forward and I try to capture it and slow it down.

_____

Eucharisteo

Ann Voskamp wrote a book. In the book, she dives into the practice of Eucharisteo… what it means, how it looks and feels, what it sounds like, how to chase after it… and her journey has prompted my own. The Spirit moved so deeply in me, I could barely sit in my own skin while I read her words. This practice of gratitude is something I’m going to embark on even more fully this year.

Fearless

If there’s anything that hinders me in life… more than anything else… it’s fear. Fear of hurt. Betrayal. Crowds of people. Emptiness. Being forgotten. Loneliness. Death. These things don’t just scare me, they absolutely terrify me. I can feel my heart begin to race with each tap of my fingers against the keyboard. I deeply desire to overcome some of my fears this year. I want to say “Yes” to things, even thought they might scare me. I want to clearly identify the lies. I want to seek hope & promise in the face of things that scare me. I don’t know that I’ll ever escape fear, but I hope to learn more about overcoming it.

Be Present

I’m a dreamer and schemer. I linger on thoughts of days ahead, wondering and picturing what lies on the other side of the next door we’re meant to open. Once I catch a glimpse of the other side, I start planning and taking steps and anticipating the lists it’ll take to get us there. In the midst of my daydreams and often-exaggerated thoughts of future life, the life I’m planted in – here, the present – rushes by and I stand bewildered, wondering where it went. The future holds excitement and beauty yet untouched… but I refuse to seek after it at the cost of the present. I’m missing moments, blessings, opportunities found squarely beneath my feet. No longer. The burns of regret singe the skin of my heart and they linger. I don’t want to miss the moments anymore. I want to be present, here, in THIS moment. In THIS life. In THIS space.

______

To be honest, I’ve been trying to live these things for weeks now. That’s been a huge reason for so much silence here. I’ve been trying to navigate it all… but it’s hard to steer and map your way through uncharted territory. Eucharisteo, fearlessness, and being present… my eyes are wide open, my palms are raised and I’m stepping slowly into the new.

It’s a new year. A new adventure. A new excitement.

I’m ready.

Are you?

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Posted on January 2, 2011 by Nish

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Posted in Blog, Faith

Dazzling beauty in pages and words.

Every now and again, I’ll read a book that seeps its way under my skin and leaves me changed for good.

It’s now been over a month since I dove into the pages of Ann Voskamp‘s One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are… but, her writing, His truth and the beauty that I found between the covers of book have lingered on, and I can’t seem to shake it. I have been changed by Ann’s story of God, His grace and her own thankfulness.

Out of the depths and front lines of some of life’s hardest circumstances, Ann has come forward delivering one of the Lord’s most powerful instructions, one that we overlook, though it’s the most-often used command in all of Scripture: Do not fear. Ann, in her book, says “It is impossible to give thanks, and simultaneously feel fear.” So her answer, her gift that she has written out here in this book, is a profound movement of Gratitude. Grace, Thankfulness and Story… All of these things abound within the lines and word pictures that she paints so beautifully.

One Thousand Gifts is a life-altering and heart-shaping work. Each page is rich with story and beauty… I found myself lingering on each page, drinking them in slowly, not wanting the journey to the back cover to end so soon. This book is not only revolutionary in content, it is crafted by a master of the written word. If you have visited A Holy Experience, Ann’s quiet place of beauty here on the web, then you’ve read her words. You know her talent. Ann Voskamp has skyrocketed the art of storytelling, and also her own writing, into unknown heights with this book.

I have found myself in awe of Ann’s story. She weaves it delicately and carefully, each word connected to another, creating lines upon lines of unending beauty. The result is a stunning basket of story, and its contents cradle one of God’s greatest gifts to his people: Grace. To say this book is exquisite is an understatement. It is a true masterpiece in every sense of the word, and I am better for reading its pages.

Do not hesitate for one moment. Buy this book and allow God’s overwhelming Grace to soak in through the comfort and dazzling beauty of Ann Voskamp’s words.

______

“One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are” by Ann Voskamp is now available for Amazon Kindle! If you’re one of the lucky people who has a Kindle, you can download it straight to your device.

If you’re not the owner of a Kindle, you can still download the e-version of this book to be read on an iPad, iPhone, personal computer and more. Visit Ann’s page here to find out more.

I cannot recommend this book highly enough. If you are in a place where you can make this purchase financially (it’s $9.99 for the Kindle edition), please don’t pass up the opportunity to be transformed by an incredible message of God’s grace and beauty.

Posted on December 15, 2010 by Nish

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Posted in Blog, Faith, Favorites