Even if there is no Narnia...

I have always loved C.S. Lewis. Since childhood I have found myself drawn to the adventures of these Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve transported into a world totally other. I started with The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe and stand firmly behind that being the best order in which to read the books. One of my favorite moments was in the beginning when Lucy tries to explain to her siblings that Narnia is real. They doubt her, however, and think she must be mad. Upon speaking with the wise Professor he says, 

“Either your sister is telling lies, or she is mad, or she is telling the truth. You know she doesn’t tell lies and it is obvious that she is not mad. For the moment then and unless any further evidence turns up, we must assume that she is telling the truth.” (The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Ch. 5)

Later in his book Mere Christianity Lewis makes a similar argument for Christ, but it was this initial statement about the validity of Narnia that brought my mind to that train of thought. I’d known that the person of Jesus was real, that many other religions had proclaimed his existence without stating his greater purpose. He was written about in history books and so the basic facts of Jesus’ life have been considered indisputable. To most of the world Jesus was a man who lived a life that is exemplary. He defied societal norms—despite his persecution—and died a humiliating and unjust life, but there had to be more to his story. Jesus could not simply be a “good guy”. Because he says it far more eloquently than I could I will allow Lewis’ words to speak my point.

“A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things that Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. H would either be a lunatic—on a level with the man who says he is a poached egg—or else he would be the Devil of Hel. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God; or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”

So here is this man who defies human logic. He did exactly what God said he would do and the world hated him for it just as the Bible foretold. (Isaiah 53:7-12) 

For me, finding Jesus so indisputably true, believing the rest of the Bible just came naturally. You could not believe one without the other, and the world was far more beautiful because of it. Rather than seeing chaos and darkness, I saw order and light and no matter what arguments came my way they just could not hold a candle to what I knew to be truth. Funny, Narnia explained that as well. In The Silver Chair, Eustace, Jill, and Puddleglum are trapped in an underworld—called Underland. Clever, Lewis ;)—after attempting to rescue a prince of Narnia. In one of my favorite scenes the children and Puddleglum have found the prince and are planning to leave Narnia when the Witch—who appears to be a beautiful lady—throws a green powder onto the fire and begins playing an instrument. The combination of the two makes it “hard to think” and the witch begins to question them. She asks them to describe Narnia and with every explanation she attempts to convince them that it is all in their imagination. The sun she says is just an imaginative rendering of a bigger and better lamp than the one they have here. Aslan is nothing more than a bigger and better cat. Nothing is real. It is all a story they made up to feel better about the world. It is at that moment that Puddleglum—such an admirable literary character—says and does something profound. He—seeing the children and the prince falling under the witch’s enchantment—stamps his foot in the fire and says, 

“All you’ve been saying is quite right, I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won’t deny any of what you said. But there’s one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things—trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case the made up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play-world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentleman and the young lady are ready, we’re leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that’s a small loss if the world’s as dull a place as you say.” (The Silver Chair, Ch. 12).

One of the more beautiful things about Puddleglum’s explanation is not that he rejects the witch’s reality, but that he is willing to go to great pains—even die—in pursuit of what he believes. Christianity is not easy. Christians have been persecuted for years. In reading Hebrews we see an entire list of people who-for faith-suffered and died. To the pleasure-seeking world there is nothing attractive about Christianity. It seems to be a religion of rules—and that is a topic for another day—why would anyone choose to follow it? Christianity is absolutely absurd…unless, of course, it’s true.

I recently heard it said that our purpose was to advance. That everything we did in life was just to get one step ahead. Even that simple thing seems exhausting and every worldview I have encountered, apart from Christ, drains me in a similar way. If our only purpose is to live and die then what is the point of all of the beautiful little things. Why do we marvel so much at a beautiful sunrise if beauty is all subjective? Why do our hearts drop when we see massive tragedies? Death is natural. Why do we not turn our heads like Billy Pilgrim and say, “So it goes”? Why do we continually seek contentment in things that never fulfill us? 

If that is what life is about I want no part of it and so like Puddleglum I will live my life as a Narnian—er..as a Christian—even if there is no Christ to follow because to me that world is the only one that makes sense.

Move with grace

Sometimes I allow people and situations to just wear me out.

Recently I have found my emotional cup at its peak and at those moments it seems life is most volatile and I am most prone to pride.

I was annoyed and so blinded to the truth.

I was hurt and so arrogant of my own wrongs.

Shamefully, I voiced these opinions to other friends who listened.

They supported my frustrations—as friends often do.  They offered advice. They told me to speak out. They told me to walk away. They told me a million things that I felt in my own heart—my prideful,deceitful heart.

They offered prayers and support—another things friends often do, but I found my frustrations only amplified rather than sated. They were loving me, but not in the way that I needed at the moment.

Without realizing it I began to pray. I was so tired of being…well, tired. I felt as though this battle I was fighting was one I had fought a million times and frankly I was just exhausted. (Isn’t it one of the most beautiful things to just find oneself praying, though? To be caught up in the middle of prayer and find that peace that only comes from a dependence on God?)

And once I had vented all that I wanted to say to God he offered me beautiful words of encouragement from the most unlikely of sources. I had recently sent a friend a few past blogs. One that spoke of my current frustrations—one that spoke of where I wanted my heart to be. This friend and I do not share the same faith, but his response encouraged me in a way that none other had. He told me he envied my ability to believe and that he felt my prayers were leading to something. He said he admired my strength and then ended his message with the last words his grandfather told him the day he died:

Move with grace, it’s just pain

And something changed in my heart at that moment—how I wish it were a forever change, but my heart is a mess and tends to stray—I found myself questioning things and sent them to another friend:

What if rather than allowing myself to become angry, I see every wrong done against me as an opportunity for prayer?

What if rather than seeking my own justice, I sought love trusting God to deliver justice where He sees fit and being content in that?

What if I allowed the doors of my heart to be opened and loved without fear?

What if I allowed God to guard what I am incapable of guarding and studied his word well enough to be close enough to know when to act and when to be silent?

I think the greatest problem I face at present is that somewhere down the line I became so afraid to love that I became vengeful and angry when I was wronged. I think that is the natural human response, but I think we are also called to something more.

Just my musings, but I think I am onto something better than the bitterness I so often allow to invade my thoughts and heart and when I am broken.

This most beautiful of hearts opened my eyes to the very things I had begun to consider in her response, that all was never as I saw it but that love really was at work. I just missed it—as I often do.

I listened in my office today to husbands complaining about wives and friends complaining about friends and I thought, “How quickly we choose to complain about everything rather than seeking love—seeking God first and letting him lead us to the best guidance for our hearts.

I pray with everything in me that I can execute this change that I can look past the things that frustrate me to the love that may be hidden within its layers. That I can see past my own pride and selfishness and find God’s grace and mercy and share that with those around me rather than my own bitterness and pains.

When I hit the ground

Neither lost nor found

When I’m on my knees I’ll still believe

-Holland Road by Mumford & Sons

I Don't Believe You

"You're a disappointment."

"You'll never be loved."

"You'll never amount to more than this."

"You'll never achieve your dreams."

"You'll never be smart/pretty/good enough."

"You're not worth the time/energy."

Words hurt. Worse than words told by others are the lies we tell ourselves. These attacks on our spirits have the ability to crumble our very foundations and when we are at our lowest we not only believe them, we add to them and we attempt to make them become our very identity. When asked if I believe that spiritual warfare is real I can firmly say yes as I witness the increasing amount of suicide and self-harm in our nation. My own brother has fallen victim to that pain and it breaks my heart. I cannot say that I am immune. The lies I began with are all things that I have believed of myself. With a single glance or word I watch my own walls crumble around me. These lies are thrown at me daily and in their way they are the most obvious, but other lies follow us as well. A week ago I went to a concert and afterwards I was talking to the singer (Greg Holden) about wanting to move to India. He had recently visited and advised against it simply because of the poor conditions. "I want to go to help." I told him and he smiled. "We were fortunate enough to be born in the wealthy west, " he said. "It's our obligation to help those who weren't." He's right. We believe the lies that as long as we aren't causing more problems we aren't hurting those around us but our silence is just as painful as our words. By not acting we are making the choice to let others fall to the wayside. I watch as we claim to know love and to follow Christ, but when I see the way we treat each other, the way we treat ourselves--and I am not exempt from this. I am equally guilty--it has to break God's heart. We use words flippantly. We tell people they are not worth our time. We tell them by our actions if not by our actual words. We tell those who are starving that we cannot spare a few dollars or a few hours of our time because we would rather watch Netflix and drink that extra coffee at Starbucks. Is that really the story we want to tell? We rush through the beautiful moments of life to indulge in the very things that are truly meaningless. How often do we rush a hug with someone we love because we are running late? Or neglect to answer a phone call because we just cannot spare the second. I am tired of living my life this way, hurrying as the most amazing things pass me by. I have always been the person who took the time to read a book or marvel at a sunrise, but somewhere down the line I got distracted. I let life overwhelm me. I pray this changes. I pray today is a start of a new era in my life. Thank you God for taking the time to bring me back--to slow me down. Life is far too beautiful to rush through. It is too wonderful to not love the people around us. To not love this gift of a world we have been given. To become so blinded by ourselves and the lies that the world feeds to us that we miss the truths that God has whispered into our very souls.
If you had the time to read this...I pray you will take another few moments to just reflect on all of the beauty around you and to thank God for it because He is worthy of our praise.

We Won't Be Shaken

I am a very awkward person.

Some might disagree with that statement. I have heard in the past that I am less awkward than I think I am, but at my heart I know that I am quite awkward. Large social settings intimidate me. My self confidence is low enough that within a week of moving away from a place I immediately believe that everyone has forgotten me. I create grandiose scenarios in my head that leave me alone and afraid of the world and the people in it, but despite my shortcomings God gave me a personality that draws people--I have no idea how. If left to my own devices I would probably spend forever reading, knitting and finding random adventures to escape the monotony of life. God, however, pulls me out of my comfort zone and gives me incredible friendships, long conversations, and a desire to know people better, to love and care for them. Like David defeating Goliath or Daniel in the lions' den, God uses a foolish, awkward child to shame the wise. It's beautiful, really.

Tonight at church we changed things up. We did what was called a kind of "campfire" worship--we all gathered around in a circle and sang a few songs together. I loved it because for once I could truly see each member of the congretation. It didn't feel like I was worshipping "at" them, but truly with them. As we sang the chorus to the song "We Won't Be Shaken" I had a feeling of community. No. I did not know them all on a personal level and there was a good chance that I never would. I probably didn't agree with everything that they thought or felt. We probably viewed God in completely different ways--and we were probably all wrong as I tend to be when it comes to seeing God--but none of that mattered. What mattered was that in that moment we were all worshipping the same God. We were all together for one purpose and one purpose alone and I felt it. I felt included in a body that though broken was striving for perfection.

One of my favorite bands--if you read my blog you'll hear that thrown around a lot. I just love music so I have a lot of "favorites"--has an album called Campfire. In it they talk about the heart of worship and community and tonight that is what I felt for the first time in a long time. It made me see the church in a beautiful and simple way. A group of people just focusing not on each other or their own selfish desires, but on God at the center of their worship. The only one worthy of praise.

the beauty of church is that it champions unity while adamantly rejecting uniformity. While the “megachurch” models itself on the picture of God in His might, glory and holiness, the campfire model tries to reflect God in His incarnate form: something human, touchable, and humbly beautiful. -Rend Collective Experiment 

Heavenly Father,

Let me not get caught up in the show, but let my heart humbly seek you in all things. Let me worship you with a desperate abandon because without you I am nothing. Thank you for your bride to encourage me in my pursuit of you. We love you, Lord. Let us not forget that simple truth.

Amen 

roll away your stone

The other day I was driving to Chick Fil A for lunch whilst listening to a Jonathan Martin sermon called "The Absurdity of Grace" about the parable of the laborers in the vineyard and the prayers of the Pharisee and the tax collector. 

I'd heard these story so many times in the past. I thought I understood them. The last shall be first, don't be arrogant. That makes sense to me, but when I listened to Martin riff on the topic I realized there was a big thing that I was missing.

You see, we look at these parables--particularly when we grow up in the church--as stories that just reveal the way that we should act and view the world. We know deep down that they reveal God but I wonder if we actually find him there in all of his beauty and grace. At face value, this parable is not something that should make us feel good inside. It is something that should baffle us with how unfair it is. I think that is one of the most beautiful things about God. We think we have him figured out. We can quote Micah 6:8 and we smile as we try to live up to it, but do we even know what justice means? How can we do it? We think we know, but then I see parables like these that if acted out in front of us would seem wholly unfair. A man who lives a "righteous" life, giving what he has  and being disciplined, leaves unjustified while the man who extorts and steals is justified because he humbled himself in a moment of utter weakness. The laborers who work one hour are paid the same as the ones who worked all day. It would drive anyone mad so that leaves me to think that my own definition of what is "fair" needs a re-evaluation. Martin says in his sermon,  

"What makes God so much more glorious than us is not that he is so much more bright and shiny than we are--this abstract hazy thing called the glory of God. In Isaiah that famous verse that says, "His ways are higher than our ways and his thoughts are higher than our thoughts" comes directly after God telling his wayward sons and daughters that he will forgive their sins without any impunity. What is the point? The basis of the glory of God has always been his mercy...has always been his love. What makes him so glorious and what makes him so holy is not the fact that he shines on Sinai but that his love and his mercy and compassion are infinitely beyond any form of human comparison. It is a love that absolutely defies any capacity we have for reason. It doesn't makes sense!"

The Gospel does not make sense. What Christ did for us is insane, and that is what makes it beautiful. Grace is not fair. Relient K has been saying that for years, and I knew it, but sometimes I forget. One of my favorite bands has a song called  The Cave and in it they say, "so come out of your cave walking on your hands and see the world hanging upside down you can understand dependence when you know the maker's land." We think we see the world as it really is, but by accepting the gospel we are essentially called to see the world completely upside down. Completely scandalized by the grace that was given to us. (There's a great article that goes far more in depth on the content behind these lyrics that you can check out here.)

I don't know. I often get these things wrong, but as I drove back to work I found myself just utterly amazed again by the gospel. When I began to slip back into reality Mumford and Sons sang back at me, "It seems that all my bridges have been burnt, but you say that's exactly how this grace thing works. It's not the long walk home that will change this heart, but the welcome I receive with a restart."

How often do I get caught up in my own righteousness (that is like filthy rags by the way. an utter mess.) but it is not the works that I do or the long walk that I take to return to my father begging his forgiveness that changes me. It's the open arms that race towards me as they eagerly awaited my return. In my life I play both the role of the prodigal who runs from her father for selfish reasons only to come back humbly on my knees and of the prideful son who remains and misses that the father has already given me everything and jealously watches the return of the prodigal thinking myself righteous because of what I have done. I am no better nor am I worse than any person I have met and I pray, I truly pray that when this euphoria of seeing God rightly--or as rightly as I can in this life--fades that he will continue to remind me that there really is nothing I can do except continually die to myself and awaken to his beautiful calling on my life.

Like Lazarus from the grave all I can do is rise when I hear my savior's voice calling me.

I will continue to roll away that stone until I am called finally home.

Not Yours

In the quiet we can process our emotions.
We can try to figure out the chaos of our minds. Mine is racing.
I yearn for quiet.
I recently had a chat with a friend that I could not stop thinking about.
She was at a marriage seminar and something that was said made her think of me.
The pastor was addressing the husbands, explaining to them the way that they should treat their wives,
"Remember, she's not yours, she's God's. Treat her as such."
On paper we would say we knew that.
We knew that the men and women we share our hearts with are children of God, but when we look at our interactions we would see that we drop the ball constantly.
I let my anger,
my pride,
even my fear get the best of me and I stumble.
I am rude and inconsiderate.
I act without thinking and I speak when I should be silent.
The statement she shared with me was one that I needed to hear.
It was as if God were gently reminding me of not only my place in his heart, but that I needed to take greater strides towards loving his creation,  in seeing them as they truly are meant to be seen.
To truly learn what it means to love my neighbor as myself.

Sometimes love speaks loudest in silence, in the quiet we can grow.

I'll kneel down wait for now...

"In our culture of constant access and nonstop media, nothing feels more like a curse from God than time in the wilderness. To be obscure, to be off the beaten path, to be in the wilderness feels like abandonment. It seems more like exile than vacation..."
-Jonathan Martin, Prototype

Sarai is barren.

She and Abraham are getting on in years and they still do not have children. God promised them descendants as numerous as the stars, but as time went on and no child came Sarai doubted. She sent her servant Hagar to be with Abraham and when Hagar became pregnant Sarai's pride and jealousy overcame her. She was cruel to Hagar and so Hagar fled.

She ran. A young woman alone in the wilderness. Pregnant, afraid.

But then something happened. She heard a voice calling to her. 

"Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from and where are you going?"

"I'm fleeing!", she answers neither question.

 She doesn't know where she is going. She doesn't know where she's been. 

She's just running. (1)

So often in my life I feel as though I'm just running. The world is big. It scares me. I know God's promises to me, but like Sarai I doubt. I try to take matters into my own hands because in my eyes nothing is changing. 

Like Hagar I run and I don't know where I'm going because I don't even know where I've been and sometimes God tells me exactly what he tells Hagar.

"Go back." (2)

The last thing I want to hear. He sends me back to find myself, to find him. He sends me to the place where I feel I have nothing. It is so clear to me that the door is closed, but I am not God. I cannot see all things. He is the God of seeing. Who am I to question?

I listen and turn back.

 I want to run, but I don't because God's faithfulness, his love it draws me. Every fiber of my being yearns for him. I trust him when I am afraid simply because I know he is worthy to be trusted.
It is I who falters...never him.

The wilderness is scary. It is there that we are tempted because it is there that we are weakest, but in our weakness God is strong.  I literally have no where else to turn. I cannot trust myself to act because then I would never stop running so I listen. 

I trust. 

I wait.

It is no easy road before us, but God never promised that it would be. When Hagar is sent back to Sarai she is told that the child she will bare will be "a wild donkey of a man. His hand against everyone and everyone against him." (3) The task before her is not an easy one, but she has God. He is with her and she knows it. 

She listens. She turns back.

No matter the difficulties I face. The days when I would like nothing more than to curl up into a ball and cry with desperation or rage against the storms coming my way I close my eyes and I remember that I am not alone. God promised he would be with me...always.

Isn't that what truly matters? I cannot know the outcome of each situation and I'm not sure I want to know most of the time. I follow Christ by trusting him at his word, to be with me no matter where I go. So as I journey through the wilderness, knowing that the days will not be easy, I hold on anyway not because what awaits on the other side is beautiful but because the one that I follow is worthy.

(1) Genesis 16:1-8

(2) Genesis 16:9

(3) Genesis 16:10-13