My Last Night on Greenwood Ave

It's hard to believe the time has come to leave this sweet little nest that has been my home for nearly four years!  How I've loved decorating and entertaining and trying new recipes and writing and resting and ministering here.

I'm remembering my first official night in my first grown-up home.  I had only lived in Connecticut for six weeks, but a houseful of single girls gathered to raise a glass of wine and some prayers as we sat in a circle in my bare living room.  {Many of those women have moved away since, but still remain my close friends.}   We christened this little home, asking God to bless and use it.

When I think of all the late nights with good friends, the college girls' dinners, and the high school Bible studies that have happened here since, I'm blown away.  What a good gift.

I'm sooo excited to move in with my friends the Dorsches for a fun summer with their three girls!   But as I was flying home from Seattle a couple of weeks ago, I suddenly felt a sense of fretfulness and panic about leaving this place that I have loved so much.  I opened my Bible and started reading some Psalms, when my eyes settled on Psalm 23:6:

Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.

The house of the LORD.  Bethel!  (To be specific, it's not the exact Hebrew word used here...but it's hard to miss the similarity.) When I first set foot in Connecticut to interview for my job at Walnut Hill, I knew that I wanted to live in this quaint New England town because of its Hebrew name.

But my truest, most perfect Home is not here on Greenwood Avenue; it is hidden in Christ--Beth'el,  the house of God.  My home here is just a shadow, and the town of Bethel a reminder that goodness and love will follow me no matter where I go. 

Just a few minutes later, on that same Seattle flight, I read this in a book for my pastoral counseling class:

In wilderness, there can be no illusion of a permanent home...When we see through God's eyes, we will not pretend that the tent we live in today can approximate the mansion in which we are destined to live.

Michael Mangis, from Care for the Soul 

Once again, it seems, God is asking me to follow the Cloud of His presence, to pick up and move without knowing what is to come next.  It's kind of scary to pack up all your belongings and put them in storage, not knowing where your next home will be.  But this is life as we trust in God's timing and plan.  Wherever the Cloud settled, the Israelites encamped (Numbers 9:17). 

The Ruth Chronicles

Oh, how I've loved spending some time in five Southern states (Alabama, Georgia, North and South Carolina, and Virgina) this past month!

I'm not sure I've ever been homesick a day in my life, at least not in the usual sense. But my travels made me as close to homesick as I've ever been. I just love Southern people and the Southern pace of things. I love the weather, the sweet tea, and the accents. There's something about being down south, that puts me at ease and makes me feel at home.

So you can imagine, as I traveled I found myself feeling a bit...well, conflicted! I love my life in Connecticut, and I continue to feel a sense of purpose and calling here. Mostly, I know that God is doing a work in me. But during my time in Richmond especially, I was feeling that old familiar pull. Richmond is just home to me in a foretaste-of-True-Home sort of way.

When I picked up my rental car at the airport in Richmond after a weekend away with my pledge sisters, Chris Tomlin's newish song came on the radio. The lyrics are borrowed from the Book of Ruth--"Where you go, I'll go; where you stay, I'll stay; when you move, I'll move. I will follow You. Whom you love, I'll love; how you serve, I'll serve. If this life I lose, I will follow You." I had been prepared to wrestle a bit with the "Why am I not in Richmond?" question during my day and a half there. And those Tomlin lyrics echo so poignantly my heart's desire to always be "where the Cloud settles." It was an interesting start to the visit.

Then, just before I returned to the airport the following evening, I made one final visit to my beautiful Alma mater. As I sat in one of my favorite spots, a little academic quad where the bulk of my English and journalism courses took place, I was expectant for God to speak to me, as He had done so many sweet times before on this campus.

As I sat in that lovely familiar spot, I was looking for God to speak a practical, human answer, as in "Stay in New England for the next five years," or "Move back to Richmond next month." Instead, He spoke to my heart in a much more profound way.

I opened my Bible to Ruth chapters 1 and 2, the One-Year Bible's Old Testament passage for the day. I immediately laughed, realizing that I was going to be reading the passage from the Chris Tomlin song that had been stuck in my head since the day before:

But Ruth replied, "Don't urge me to leave you or turn back from you. Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay.

Then, I read on and these words jumped off the page at me:

Boaz replied, "I've been told all about what you have done for your mother-in-law since the death of your husband, how you left your father and mother and your homeland and came to live with a people you did not know before. May the LORD repay you for what you have done. May you be richly rewarded by the LORD, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to take refuge."

I can't totally explain it, but I just felt the Father's pleasure in those words. It's not informed Bible study or careful exegesis, but sometimes He just speaks through His Word like that. Call me a mystic if you like. I think it would be taking too much liberty if I tried to apply that to a specific course of action. But I don't know--somehow Boaz's words flooded my heart with peace there on that stone bench in the middle of the Jepson quad. For the first time since the start of winter, the questions about whether to go or stay ceased for a moment and I basked in God's pleasure.

It's funny, because my friend B paraphrased that same verse for me earlier this year when I was so OVER the snowy Connecticut winter. I love it when God repeats things in our lives--usually means He's up to something.

I know I'm rambling. But I guess my point is just to say, here I am. Living right here in Connecticut, where the Cloud has settled. It's tempting to try to map out all of life, to want the particulars about the whens and whos and wheres. But I think, once again, God is just calling me to rest under this Cloud--to settle in enough to enjoy His presence, but not to get so comfy that I can't pick up and move when it's time to set out again.

That He May Work In Us

It seems the Cloud is on the move again. Not to a new geographical location, but in a spiritual sense, for certain. It's like God is saying, "Don't get too comfortable. Remember, you're a pilgrim, just passing through this life" (Psalm 84:5). There are some big changes happening at Walnut Hill--and they're great ones! But as the new girl just getting settled, change is rocking my world a little.

Without getting too introspective, I just want to share a thought. I'm learning, in the midst of all this change and upheaval, and through some other circumstances as well, that God is far more interested in doing a work in me than He is in my doing a work for Him.

When I type it out, maybe it sounds almost haughty, but bear with me for a second here. If we really believe that God wants to use us as His instruments...If, as Eugene Petersen puts it in His translation of 2 Corinthians 4:7-8, He wants to use "the unadorned clay pots of our very ordinary lives," then the work has to start in us. We must be emptied before we can be "filled to the measure with all the fullness of God" (Ephesians 3:19). I think I can get so sidetracked by ministering to others, by trying to accomplish something weighty for the Kingdom that I miss the point...

With this Father God who offers His Son to redeem and His Spirit to regenerate, it's the heart that matters most.

My young adult girls' Bible study had the most precious time of confession last Thursday. The Lord had been impressing the importance of confessing sin on my heart since Advent, and as we girls talked two weeks in a row about the things we let distract us from pursuing God, I was convicted that corporate confession was essential. Let me tell you, it was beautiful! There's something so humbling and yet so uplifting about laying down idols and burdens in the midst of community. And it's addicting--as I've gone through my week, I've been painfully aware of more junk in my life that is keeping me from being more intimately identified with Christ.

And isn't it good of God, isn't it just so like Him, to meet us in that place of deep conviction and show us the places that need healing, the things in our lives that must be dealt with? It's in the wake of (and really, in the midst of) confession that I'm recognizing His concern with my heart, His desire to work in me in fresh ways so that I'm not the same person I was yesterday or last year. He is the One who is faithful to finish the work He has begun (1 Thessalonians 5:24, Philippians 1:6).

So here's the Scripture I'm clinging to as things around me are changing:

"May the God of peace, who through the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus Christ, that great Shepherd of the Sheep, equip you with everything good for doing His will, and may He work in us what is pleasing to Him, through Christ Jesus, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen" (Hebrews 13:20-21).

Sukkot

Today is the last day of the Jewish Festival of Tabernacles, or Sukkot, and that means my favorite Jewish holiday, Simchat Torah, is on the horizon. As I've waited for Wednesday, and more importantly, as I wait to celebrate Wednesday's significance at Tikvat Yisrael in Richmond this Saturday, it dawned on me that Sukkot has a special significance to me this year.

The Jewish festival of booths, as it is often translated, is a week for celebrating God's provision in the desert. Jewish families build a "booth" or a small hut in the backyard to resemble the temporary homes inhabited by the Israelites as they were lead by God's Spirit in the pillar of cloud. The family then eats all of its meals picnic-style in the booth for the duration of the festival. Children are encouraged to line the sukkah with pictures, and sometimes the family even sleeps in it. As Lauren Winner has remarked, "It is while sitting in the sukkah that you learn lessons about dependence on God, that even the walls of your brick house are flimsy."

As I thought about Sukkot and lessons of dependence, I recalled my Jewish studies professor telling us that one rabbi called the first sukkah "clouds of glory." I am really struck by that language as I continue to apply the principle of the pillar of cloud day-to-day. The walls of our lives may seem oh-so-flimsy in times of transition or uncertainty, and the desert is cruel. But we can trust in the God who always provides, who continues to speak to us about where we're headed and the plans that He has for us. As we anticipate Simchat Torah (literally, "the joy of the Word," which I'll discuss when I return from Richmond), let us give thanks to the God who provides and who speaks!

"After leaving Sukkoth they camped at Etham on the edge of the desert. By day the LORD went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, so that they could travel by day or night."
Exodus 13:19-21

Note: I love what A.W. Tozer has said about the observance of special days in Jewish culture: "By innumerable distinctions God taught Israel the difference between holy and unholy. there were holy days, holy vessels, holy garments. There were washings, sacrifices, offerings of many kinds. By these means, Israel learned that God is holy. It was this that He was teaching them, not the holiness of things or places. The holiness of Yahweh was the lesson they must learn." So as we reflect on these "holy" days, we must also remember that it is a Holy God we are worshiping, not a day or a ritual.

A Gentle Whisper: Further Meditations on the Spirit of God

Some days it's hard to live where the cloud settles. It feels like everything is in a holding pattern, and I'm just waiting for the pillar of cloud to pick up and move to show me what's supposed to come next. In thinking about that imagery for the Spirit last night, I remembered the story of Elijah.

It's easy to envy Elijah; after all, he was privy to one of the most amazing mighty acts of the Tanak (Old Testament). The story, which can be found in 1 Kings 18-19, goes something like this:

An evil king named Ahab and his wife, Jezebel, are in control of the kingdom of Israel and thanks to Jezebel's ties to Baalism, idolatry has taken over the worship of the one true God. Yahweh instructs his prophet Elijah to challenge the prophets of Baal to a contest. If the Baalists can convince their god to send fire down on their altar, then the people should worship Baal. But if the God of Israel responds to Elijah's pleading for fire on his altar, then the people should worship Yahweh. So the whole company travels up to Mt. Carmel. The Baalists act like fruitcakes, dancing and singing and even cutting themselves (scholars refer to this act as "sympathetic magic") in effort to get a response from the pagan god of fertility. After hours of this nonesense, Elijah begins to mock them, asking if perhaps their god is on a trip or maybe in the men's room (1 Kings 18:27). And then, at Yahweh's command, he ups the ante. Elijah douses his altar with water.

Of course we know that the flooded altar is no match for the God who created both fire and water. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob comes through as promised: he sends fire down to consume the altar, and the people of Israel are humbled. In obedience to God's decree, Elijah has the Baalist prophets slaughtered, and the people rejoice in Yahweh's victory. Just when it seems like all is well, Elijah lets worry get the best of him. Rather than resting in the sure provision of his mighty God, he slinks off in fear! And ironically, he ends up cowering at Mt. Horeb, also known as Mt. Sinai, where Yahweh enacted His covenant with the Hebrew people. As Elijah sits there defeated, an angel approaches and tells him to wait for the Lord to pass by. First comes a mighty wind, but God isn't in the wind. Then an earthquake rumbles through, but God isn't in the earthquake. And then a fire burns up the ground, but God isn't in the fire. Finally, there is a gentle whisper, and that whisper is the Voice and the Presence of the Almighty God.

The Hebrew word for wisper or breath is ruach. This is the same word used in the account of creation found in Genesis 2 when God "breathed into [Adam's] nostrils the breath of life" (Genesis 2:7). Fittingly, in Hebrew, the Spirit of God is referred to as Ruach Elohim. So the Spirit of God isn't a display of power or splendor, rather, it (really, He) is that still small voice that speaks when we quiet our hearts to listen. And just as Yahweh spoke to His people on Mt. Sinai through Moses, just as He spoke to Elijah in the hush of a whisper, just as He spoke through the pillar of cloud, He continues to reveal Himself as the God who speaks to His people today.

Even as I sit and type, I am deeply convicted that I am so like Elijah. In the face of all that God has done to prove Himself in my life, I remain unconvinced that He will come through for me. As Beth Moore reflected on Isaiah 55:8-11 in her blog earlier this week, "sometimes we're so focused on the seed that hasn't shown a harvest that we ignore the bread sitting right in front of us." And what's more, I wait for Him to move me by some act of mightiness when I should be listening for the still small voice, the ruach that resides within me and wispers gently to my heart. I claim to be about waiting on this cloud, but in reality, sometimes I'm looking for God in an earthquake!

In spite of all that remains to be accomplished in my life here in Nashville, and in the midst of the direction I'm still seeking, I'm resolved to stay here where the cloud has settled and wait patiently on the God who speaks.

Gracious Uncertainty: Lessons from the Pillar of Cloud

For several years now I've been challenged by the story of the pillar of cloud. My freshman year of college, I had been praying fervently about spending some time ministering in Japan, and things were uncertain. Plans for my trip had fallen through several times, and I found myself questioning if God was shutting the door on my going or if I just needed to push through some opposition from the Enemy. That semester, I was reading Shadow of the Almighty, a book about missionary martyr Jim Elliot, written by his wife, Elisabeth Elliot. (If you've never read any of Ms. Elliot's books, I commend her to you as an incredible writer!) In one of Jim's college journal entries he wrote:

"Guidance for Israel in their [sic...] wandering was unquestionable (Numbers 9). There could be no doubt if God wished them to move. Shall my Father be less definite with me? I cannot believe so. Often I doubt, for I cannot see, but surely the Spirit will lead as definitely as the pillar of cloud. I must be as willing to remain as to go, for the presence of God determines the whereabouts of His people. 'Where I am, there shall also My servant be.' Very well, Lord--what of this summer?"

"Surely the Spirit will lead as definitely as the pillar of cloud"...Those words were like water to my soul during a time when the only thing clear was my inability to make things happen. And "I must be as willing to remain as to go"...a challenge to open my hands as I waited to see what was in store. As I, too, asked the question, "What of this summer?" the Lord ministered to my heart in regards to the clarity He promises those who call upon Him. He showed up in a powerful way, opening every door to allow me to go to Japan (see photo above of time spent in Kobe) and affirming His ability to accomplish His purposes regardless of circumstance.

Three summers later, a college graduate with no job, Numbers 9 is again the meditation of my heart; only now I am saying, "Very well, Lord, what of the rest of my life?!" While not having a job has certainly had it's perks this summer--like having time to go to weddings and to get settled in a new city--there have also been plenty of days when I'm discouraged by my unemployment. I have to say I never thought that as a college graduate I'd be excited about a job at the mall...it is a humbling thing, really. But even on those difficult days, I'm reminded of how God provided for His people in the desert by sending them manna (Exodus 16) and quail (Numbers 11), and by causing water to gush from the rock (Numbers 20). In similar fashion, the Lord's sweet blessings have "gushed" out in my own life this summer--He's provided a wonderful family for me to live with, He's met my needs through supportive parents and a meager income working a few hours of retail, and best of all He's lavished me with an amazing community of friends here in Nashville. I'm trusting that just as He guided the Israelites through the desert and into the land of the promise, He will "establish the work of my hands" (Psalm 90:17) in due time. In this case, I must be as willing to go as to stay!

I'm reminded of a quote from Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest:

"Certainty is the mark of the commonsense life…gracious uncertainty is the mark of the spiritual life. To be certain of God means that we are uncertain in all our ways, not knowing what tomorrow may bring. This is generally expressed with a sigh of sadness, but it should be an expression of breathless expectation. Leave everything to Him and it will be gloriously and graciously uncertain how He will come in, but you can be certain that He will come!

With breathless expectation!



*and for a humorous take on this subject, check out my good friend Josh's blog post:
http://lifewithusthree.com/archives/34