In Uganda there was a concrete wall surrounding our entireIn Uganda there was a concrete wall surrounding our entire house. On top of it was some barbed wire…well, not really barbed, it was covered in tiny straight edged-razors that jutted out in every direction…so on top of the concrete wall, there was tiny-straight-edge-razored wire looped around the entire complex.
In Uganda there was a concrete wall surrounding our entire house. On top of it was some barbed wire…well, not really barbed, it was covered in tiny straight edged-razors that jutted out in every direction…so on top of the concrete wall, there was tiny-straight-edge-razored wire looped around the entire complex.
Looking at it from the front porch at a certain angle, two of the loops overlap and make a perfectly symmetrical heart shape.
That's the image that made me realize I'd stopped feeling, which was a strange feeling.
I am, after all, a missionary. I'm supposed to be living a blog-worthy adventure motivated by compassion and unconditional love for God's people.
Except I didn't have compassion or unconditional love. I didn't have anything going on emotionally, just a growing desire to quit and go home, save myself. My frequent thoughts about how badly I wanted to be anywhere other than where I was were suffocating.
Eventually I felt a familiar doubt trickle into my mind like a thin, smoky cloud, coating the lens through which I view the world in a dark film that seemed impenetrable.
I first heard the Gospel when I was 7-years-old, and I believed it. I've actually known and believed in Jesus my whole life.
I also believed it wasn't for me; not because I didn't want to be a Christian, but because I believed that God hadn't chosen me to be one.
This is a little hard to explain so I almost never share it, because inevitably once people understand the lie I'm trying to explain, they look at me like I'm bright purple and have 3 heads, and possibly like there are bubbles coming out of my ears…but I think I need to explain it, so here goes:
Ever since I was little, I've believed that God is real, Jesus is real, every word of the Bible is true…and God just hasn't chosen me.
Israel was the chosen nation, the new testament talks about the "elect" and the "saints" and the "chosen ones" and predestination…and until I was 19, every time I read any of those words, a small voice in the back of my head would add the subtext:
that's not you.
It wasn't because I thought I was too dirty or sinful to accept God's love, I didn't feel dirty at age 7. It wasn't performance-based or about comparing myself with anyone else. I just didn't believe I was or could be saved, because I believed it wasn't predestined that I should be.
I accepted that to be fact for a long time. There was no purpose to my life. God was wonderful and I thought I loved him, but for whatever reason I wasn't ever supposed to be a Christian, so I didn't bother.
Throughout my time in Africa, my heart grew harder and harder.
I would find people and places to love at each ministry site and in each country, but I wasn't loving myself and I wasn't letting God romance me – I wasn't loving Him.
That afternoon in Uganda, as I sat staring at the razor-heart and realized I wasn't feeling, I also realized
I didn't believe God could make me feel again.
I didn't believe God could make me feel again.
I would never again feel warm and inviting, captivated by a landscape,
brought to tears by the sincerity of a hug, heartbroken for the reality of human trafficking, or elated by the unity of the Spirit-anointed fellowship of believers.
I wanted to feel like I was in love with Jesus, to feel romanced by God, to be a glowing witness for Christ and a vessel bringing deliverance and salvation to His world. I wanted to feel warm and alive and purposed…
but I didn't, and I wasn't even sad about it…but I wished I were at least that.
It made sense, though, that God wasn't going to soften my heart again…
He couldn't,
because it was never part of His original intent for my life for me to be saved,
to have a relationship with Him…
and suddenly I was 19-years-old again, gritting my teeth and panicking internally while I tried to figure out whether or not I could truly be wholly known, loved, desired, and chosen by Yahweh.
A few years ago I was pseudo-dating one of those guys who only listens to, like, the most underground music…
The kind of guy who will rattle off the 15-word name of some band that no one listens to and then look at you like you're the fool for not knowing who they are.
Then, of course, he will immediately insist that you listen to 45 full minutes of their music before you're allowed to make a comment about them as a group.
He was also a cat-person…so there's that.*
…So this guy REALLY wanted me to listen to **William Fitzsimmons, and I was like "William Fitzs-who?" so he sent me the link to this song that's actually a duet between William and this girl Rosi Golan called "Hazy," and it's beautiful, and I liked it a lot…
So I bought Rosi Golan's whole album (sorry, music-snob-guy).
Anyway, she sings a song called "Shine," and it's likely about some dude she dated in the 10th grade; but for me, the song is about me and Jesus and part of it goes like this:
I was riding around in the back of our pick-up (everyone either drives pick-up trucks or motorcycles in Thailand) listening to that song when I realized that I could feel…and I felt everything.
The intensity of the blue in the sky made me want to cry,
while the jungle shades of green from dark to light made me eccstatic at their proof of new life springing forth all the time
– awakenings, resurrections – they're happening!
Things are being made new, and they're freaking beautiful!
I reluctantly peeled my eyes off the landscapes of southeast Thailand to look at the women in the back of the truck with me.
Tired, disheveled, in clothing they'd never wear in America, sweat beading on their necks and behind their knees and in the creases of their elbows…
and they were beautiful, too! And I realized…I love these women.
I mean, I really love these women.
I feel like these women are my family.
As I started "Shine" over again for the third time, I started thinking about how God couldn't soften my heart again because He wasn't supposed to, and how absolutely ridiculous that is, and how strongly I've believed it in the past, and how much I still have to fight that lie, and I realized…
I have GOT to figure out what the root of that lie is, because frankly, it's not a good enough lie for me to keep fighting.
So I prayed about it.
and I talked about it…a lot.
and I prayed about it some more.
and I realized that the only reason I could think of that I would believe God hadn't purposed me to be saved and to live for Him and in relationship with Him is if some part of me doesn't believe God loves me.
I'm a missionary, and I just realized part of me has a really hard time believing God loves me.
There's a difference between beliving God doesn't love you and not believing God loves you. I didn't believe God doesn't love me, I just couldn't fully accept that He does…and it crippled me.
When my foundation was shaken, I found that I'd built my house on the sand…outside proverbial terms, my foundation was crap and all it took was some really tough community for a few months for me to fall into the shell of a woman who doesn't believe she's saved because she doesn't believe God loves her…
even after God provided $14,800.00 for me to show me the absolute most beautiful parts of His world – His mountains, His rivers, His oceans, His jungles, His children…
our Thai little brother, Samuel.
I've never tried to write out those lies before, but this week when I realized what I'd believed and how long I've believed it, and how catastrophically believing it wrecks me, I felt like I HAD to write it out.
because someone else in this world believes that, too.
and this is for those people, and what I want to tell you if you are that person is this:
God loves you.
There is no way around it, scripturally.
Sure, you've hurt in your life. Sure, you've gone without things you wanted or thought you needed, and you've lost things and people you loved, and you've felt lost yourself sometimes…
Has it ever not worked out, though? Have you ever dropped to your knees and asked God to help you out, and He's let you down?
Try it out, I promise He wont let you down.
I don't have all the answers.
I can't prove it to you, because you have to look for it yourself to find it, but I promise this is true, and it's the most solid truth there is or ever has been in the world:
I can't prove it to you, because you have to look for it yourself to find it, but I promise this is true, and it's the most solid truth there is or ever has been in the world:
God loves you.
He has to. It's His nature, it's His character, it's the only reason we have any ability to love whatsoever:
because God IS love (1 John 4:8), and we love because He first loved us (19), and if God so loved us, so we ought to love one another (11)
…and that's what everything is about: love.
The love of God that died to save the world so that we could know it, and receive it, and reciprocate it, and give it out.
*Note: Nothing against cat people, I'm just not one. I'm highly allergic to cats, it was never in the cards for me to like them…plus I love big dogs a lot so if I liked cats, I'd have a difficult choice to make.
**Also, about a year and a half ago I started actually listening to William Fitzsimmons, turns out I'm a fan.
**Also, about a year and a half ago I started actually listening to William Fitzsimmons, turns out I'm a fan. house. On top of it was some barbed wire…well, not really barbed, it was covered in tiny straight edged-razors that jutted out in every direction…so on top of the concrete wall, there was tiny-straight-edge-razored wire looped around the entire complex.
Looking at it from the front porch at a certain angle, two of the loops overlap and make a perfectly symmetrical heart shape.
That's the image that made me realize I'd stopped feeling, which was a strange feeling.
I am, after all, a missionary. I'm supposed to be living a blog-worthy adventure motivated by compassion and unconditional love for God's people.
Except I didn't have compassion or unconditional love. I didn't have anything going on emotionally, just a growing desire to quit and go home, save myself. My frequent thoughts about how badly I wanted to be anywhere other than where I was were suffocating.
Eventually I felt a familiar doubt trickle into my mind like a thin, smoky cloud, coating the lens through which I view the world in a dark film that seemed impenetrable.
I first heard the Gospel when I was 7-years-old, and I believed it. I've actually known and believed in Jesus my whole life.
I also believed it wasn't for me; not because I didn't want to be a Christian, but because I believed that God hadn't chosen me to be one.
This is a little hard to explain so I almost never share it, because inevitably once people understand the lie I'm trying to explain, they look at me like I'm bright purple and have 3 heads, and possibly like there are bubbles coming out of my ears…but I think I need to explain it, so here goes:
Ever since I was little, I've believed that God is real, Jesus is real, every word of the Bible is true…and God just hasn't chosen me. Israel was the chosen nation, the new testament talks about the "elect" and the "saints" and the "chosen ones" and predestination…and until I was 19, every time I read any of those words, a small voice in the back of my head would add the subtext:
that's not you.
It wasn't because I thought I was too dirty or sinful to accept God's love, I didn't feel dirty at age 7.
It wasn't performance-based or about comparing myself with anyone else.
I just didn't believe I was or could be saved, because I believed it wasn't predestined that I should be.
I accepted that to be fact for a long time. There was no purpose to my life. God was wonderful and I thought I loved him, but for whatever reason I wasn't ever supposed to be a Christian, so I didn't bother.
Throughout my time in Africa, my heart grew harder and harder. I would find people and places to love at each ministry site and in each country, but I wasn't loving myself and I wasn't letting God romance me – I wasn't loving Him.
That afternoon in Uganda, as I sat staring at the razor-heart and realized I wasn't feeling, I also realized I didn't believe God could make me feel again.
I would never again feel warm and inviting, captivated by a landscape, brought to tears by the sincerity of a hug, heartbroken for the reality of human trafficking, or elated by the unity of the Spirit-anointed fellowship of believers.
I wanted to feel like I was in love with Jesus, to feel romanced by God, to be a glowing witness for Christ and a vessel bringing deliverance and salvation to His world. I wanted to feel warm and alive and purposed, but I didn't, and I wasn't even sad about it…but I wished I were at least that.
It made sense, though, that God wasn't going to soften my heart again…He couldn't, because it was never part of His original intent for my life for me to be saved, to have a relationship with Him; and suddenly I was 19-years-old again, gritting my teeth and panicking internally while I tried to figure out whether or not I could truly be wholly known, loved, desired, and chosen by Yahweh.
A few years ago I was pseudo-dating one of those guys who only listens to, like, the most underground music…
The kind of guy who will rattle off the 15-word name of some band that no one listens to and then look at you like you're the fool for not knowing who they are. Then, of course, he will immediately insist that you listen to 45 full minutes of their music before you're allowed to make a comment about them as a group.
He was also a cat-person…so there's that.*
Anyway, this guy REALLY wanted me to listen to **William Fitzsimmons, and I was like "William Fitzs-who?" so he sent me the link to this song that's actually a duet between William and this girl Rosi Golan called "Hazy," and it's beautiful, and I liked it a lot…
So I bought Rosi Golan's whole album (sorry, music-snob-guy). She sings a song called "Shine," and it's likely about some dude she dated in the 10th grade; but for me, the song is about me and Jesus and part of it goes like this:
"This life is light, it's light burns bright, so we'll take it day-by-day and let it be; and everyone will see how good it feels, oh they'll see the world for all that it could be – so let the sunlight in, I wanna feel it from within, you spin me around and make me feel like I could shine…"
I was riding around in the back of our pick-up (everyone either drives pick-up trucks or motorcycles in Thailand) listening to that song when I realized that I could feel…and I felt everything.
The intensity of the blue in the sky made me want to cry, while the jungle shades of green from dark to light made me eccstatic at their proof of new life springing forth all the time – awakenings, resurrections – they're happening! Things are being made new, and they're freaking beautiful!
I reluctantly peeled my eyes off the landscapes of southeast Thailand to look at the women in the back of the truck with me. Tired, disheveled, in clothing they'd never wear in America, sweat beading on their necks and behind their knees and in the creases of their elbows…and they were beautiful, too! And I realized…I love these women. I mean, I really love these women. I feel like these women are my family.
As I started "Shine" over again for the third time, I started thinking about how God couldn't soften my heart again because He wasn't supposed to, and how absolutely ridiculous that is, and how strongly I've believed it in the past, and how much I still have to fight that lie, and I realized…I have GOT to figure out what the root of that lie is, because frankly, it's not a good enough lie for me to keep fighting.
So I prayed about it.
and I talked about it…a lot.
and I prayed about it some more.
and I realized that the only reason I could think of that I would believe God hadn't purposed me to be saved and to live for Him and in relationship with Him is if some part of me doesn't believe God loves me.
I'm a missionary, and I just realized part of me has a really hard time believing God loves me.
There's a difference between beliving God doesn't love you and not believing God loves you. I didn't believe God doesn't love me, I just couldn't fully accept that He does…and it crippled me.
When my foundation was shaken, I found that I'd built my house on the sand…outside proverbial terms, my foundation was crap and all it took was some really tough community for a few months for me to fall into the shell of a woman who doesn't believe she's saved because she doesn't believe God loves her…even after God provided $14,800.00 for me to show me the absolute most beautiful parts of His world – His mountains, His rivers, His oceans, His jungles, His children…
I've never tried to write out those lies before, but this week when I realized what I'd believed and how long I've believed it, and how catastrophically believing it wrecks me, I felt like I HAD to write it out…because someone else in this world believes that, too.
and this is for those people, and what I want to tell you if you are that person is this:
God loves you. There is no way around it, scripturally. Sure, you've hurt in your life. Sure, you've gone without things you wanted or thought you needed, and you've lost things and people you loved, and you've felt lost yourself sometimes…
Has it ever not worked out, though? Have you ever dropped to your knees and asked God to help you out, and He's let you down?
Try it out, I promise He wont let you down.
I don't have all the answers. I can't prove it to you, because you have to look for it yourself to find it, but I promise this is true, and it's the most solid truth there is or ever has been in the world: God loves you.
He has to. It's His nature, it's His character, it's the only reason we have any ability to love whatsoever: because God IS love, and we love because He first loved us, and if God so loved us, so we ought to love one another…and that's what everything is about: love. The love of God that died to save the world so that we could know it and receive it and reciprocate it and give it out.
*Note: Nothing against cat people, I'm just not one. I'm highly allergic to cats, it was never in the cards for me to like them…plus I love big dogs a lot so if I liked cats, I'd have a difficult choice to make.
**Also, about a year and a half ago I started actually listening to William Fitzsimmons, turns out I'm a fan.
