God: Unchanging

Crunching across a ground just beginning to freeze, wearing faded jeans and a once quilted plaid jacket, now bereft of lining, a thought occurred in the recesses of my mind. Well, maybe more than one thought....

It was windy, cold gusts blowing through the trees, and it reminded me of the story of Elijah, fleeing for his life, trying to find God, but the voice of God was not in the wind.

The second thing I started thinking of is sort of ridiculous, but bear with me. I was thinking that if someone was teleported to my backyard today, they wouldn't have any way to tell whether it was fall heading into winter or winter heading into spring. The ground is the same temperature, it looks the same, there are no buds yet, but that's not to say they won't come. There is nothing to say whether we are freezing or thawing. Only our foreknowledge and experience let us know where we are in the seasonal cycle. I could measure quantifiable units, such as ground temperature, position of the sun, temperature of the air, and the facts would stand on their own, but the inference I make from this information is not absolute it is relative.

I don't know if I've been subconsciously processing this since Bible school seven years ago or if all the thoughts of this concept have been lying dormant and have just begun to awaken now that I've pulled out some of my physics work from high school and I'm beginning to link some of my high school physics theories to things I've learned about philosophy, community and faith. Or maybe it's because I decided to try and write a 400-500 word devotional on discipleship, using relativity as an example. (Please don't ask how that's going, I've re-written twice and I'm not sure that I've ever re-written anything in my life. I'm pretty much ready to scrap the whole project).

But the point is, I've been thinking about what it means to be absolute, versus what it means to be relative. Now, I've come up with my own definitions of each word, but I'm going to include the real dictionary definitions here, just for the sake of you normal people that may not think of super nerdy things the way I do... (and that's not a bad thing, either way).

An absolute is defined as being viewed or existing independently and not in relation to other things; not relative or comparative.

Something that is relative is defined as being something that is dependent on external conditions for its specific nature or context. 

Here in northern Canada, we often talk about the temperature like this, it's negative 35 Celcius today, but with the wind chill its negative 45. The actual temperature is -35, cold. But because of other external factors, we know to dress for even colder weather. We do this because we know that when we go outside it will feel colder than -35. Our perception of the temperature is different than the absolute value. 

I've probably lost some of you by now. I apologize. For those of you still reading, awesome! I promise, it gets better from here. 

Let's switch from physics to philosophy. :) No groans please. 

A vast majority of people in society today, don't believe in moral absolutes. There is no such thing as good or evil, only our perception of a thing colors it as good or evil. These people believe in moral relativity: what's true for you, may not be true for me. 

I thought about this too much as a 19 year old. I was close to walking away from my faith. In my head I couldn't reconcile relativity and absolutes. 

I'm not writing this today to disprove moral relativity. I actually could probably have left out pretty much everything I've written so far today and still write what I'm going to write next. 

Today, crunching across the ground, I realized something. My perception of God is relative to my experience, my emotion, the thought process. My perception of God is different than your perception of God, which is relative to your experience, your emotion and your thought process. 

But God is not relative to my perception. What I think of God doesn't change who God is. 

God is absolute. He is Himself. Nothing He does is out of character. What happens in my life does not change who God is. What I say about God does not change who He is. What you feel about God doesn't change who God is. 

Because, God is. 

Strangely, there is a great comfort in such a great Unknown. God is unwavering, and He is always at work in the circumstances of our lives. He works things together for good.

Joseph said it well, when he said to his brothers, "You meant evil against me, but God intended it for good, to save many people alive." Genesis 50:20 

Despite the circumstances in our lives, we can fully rest in the confidence that our God does not change in our circumstances, rather He remains unchanged and will be our Rock in all things. 

From Northern Lights to Southern Stars

Have you ever seen the northern lights?

Northern lights fascinate me to the point of an almost obsession. I've even gotten up in the middle of the night to see if they've come out that night. The mostly green, but ranging in colour from yellow to pink to blue, lights dance across a frozen expanse of sky on an almost nightly basis in the north. Some nights, the lights even sing.

Night is my time. My brain sort of muddles through the day, and as evening approaches, all of the cogs finally settle into place and start spilling out coherent thoughts. When I was much younger I used to write myself to sleep, writing poetry, prose, and wildly imaginative stories and arguments in my head until I drifted off to sleep. No counting sheep here! And many nights, when that didn't work, I'd get up and wander the backyard for hours watching the sky, the stars, the moon, the northern lights. God has spoken to me a lot in those hours, and in many nighttime wanderings since childhood. My closest moments with God, as well as my deepest wrestlings have come after midnight, under a night sky.

When I moved to the South Pacific, my midnight wanderings didn't change. But the sky did. No more northern lights. Rather, the sky grew deeper and closer, stars shone differently, clustered, the sky looked more like diamond-encrusted velvet, and instead of northern lights, I looked for falling stars. I would sit in the sand or swing in the hammock, under palm trees and hear waves pound over the reef. The struggles and moments with God, changed the same way the night sky did. The struggles were deeper and closer to the heart, and the moments of closeness with God were so much more beautiful, more precious even than they had ever been before.

Many nights I sat there, homesick for a Canadian sky, watching the tide go out and feeling like everything I knew to be right and true and real was pulling away with it. The difficulty of making another country home, trying to find place or belonging, struggling to learn the joy of living and learning cross-culturally, having everything you think is normal counteracted, all these things brought me out underneath the night sky. All these things cemented my relationship with God, as I learned to let go, and let God. It started to be home.

And then, one night, God whispered, it's time to leave.

A few months later, broken, still in the middle of full-time ministry, my last night arrived. Emotions were running high and team dynamics were everywhere. The base was in the middle of its yearly trustees meetings and mission builders, staff and community were all going through dramatic times. I put my babies to bed (not actually mine, I just get to loan them sometimes:) ), and I escaped. My bags were packed, and I went to the beach, one last night, one final stand in the ocean, looking at the stars.

It wasn't a long linger, it was short, hurried, me knowing that anything too long would bring on a flood of tears that I wasn't prepared for. That was my last midnight wandering for awhile, and I was angry with God.

I wasn't in a good place when I left. Emotionally and physically, I was worn out. There was very little love left, although I was serving and teaching, my faith in God was at an all time low. Looking back it scares me, a little, I could have kept on going for a long time, just barely making the grade, putting on a cover.

But by God's grace, mercy an infinite wisdom, He pulled me out.

I came back to Canada with the goal of relocating to serve in Asia in 8 months. I arrived in Canada in April and I was positive I was going to leave by January.

It's 4:23am, as I write this, and everyone is sleeping, otherwise I would be laughing out loud. Because it's so ridiculous, writing this and realizing the unrealistic expectations I had.

By July, I started cluing in that God wasn't going to be moving me to Asia as quickly as I'd planned, but that didn't stop me from trying to force His hand.

Apparently God is more stubborn than I am.

Good thing too. It's been hard, emotionally and spiritually recovering. But what's been harder, is realizing the absolute lack of control that I have. I like to be in charge of situations. I like knowing that if I do a, followed by b, naturally c will occur. God, (surprise, surprise) doesn't work like that.
It's more like if I do a, He'll do z, and naturally 8 will occur.

God doesn't think like me. Probably a good thing too.

I've been lying awake thinking of Jeremiah 29:11. Everyone knows this verse: For I know the thoughts I think towards you, says the Lord. It's probably one of the most over-quoted scriptures of all time. Doesn't make it less true though. Even though this is a verse written specifically with Israel in mind, it teaches us something about the character and nature of God: We are on God's heart, and His plans towards us our plans with good intention.

God showed me something a few years ago. When you look at the context of this verse, Jeremiah is writing a letter to the children of Israel, they've just been carried away captive. Let's put it another way, an army has just come in and forced them out of their homes. There has probably been killing, robbery, abuse, maybe even rape. They've been taken out of their homes and been forced to relocate into another land. At first glance, it doesn't really look like Jeremiah is writing a letter of hope, he's telling the captives to settle in this other land, there's not going to be rescue, no one's coming to save them, not for 70 years! That's more than a lifetime for some of them.

And then Jeremiah inserts the promise that God is thinking good thoughts towards them.

I know for a fact, that I would not have been receptive or believed in that promise. It wouldn't have looked like there was any hope. Stripped of everything, I would have done what I could to regain control over my situation.

But God moves us into places and situations we can't control. It drives us to our knees and it brings us, or at least me, under the night sky, recognizing the vastness of God and His infinite wisdom.

I was broken when I left the South Pacific, but I didn't realize how much. I'm becoming whole again, finding my feet and my personality and new vision and new dreams. I still want to serve. My heart is still to go overseas, to share God's love with people who have never encountered hope.

The journey there might just take longer than expected.

One thing I do know, from northern lights to southern stars, He is still God. His sovereignty does not change. He's got the whole world in His hands.


Note: The photos on this page are not my personal photos, but pulled off of google images. 

The Pink Goop

There's this image floating around in my head of a cartoon character with the top of his head tipped back and a bunch of pinky, sticky goop roiling out, his hands frantically trying to capture the goop and keep it contained.

I feel like that in some of my best moments. Like I'm hard-pressed, trying to keep every thought contained and in one place. But one thought tips over into another thought, and away I go again. Goop everywhere. 

This week, maybe even this past month or two, the thoughts have been mostly centred around one thing. 

....Well, someone did pose the question, "If Jesus lived on earth today, what kind of vehicle would He drive?" That has also taken a good bit of roiling goop, but I think I may have eliminated quite a few of the possibilities. (Message me if you want to follow that train of thought.) But mostly this week, I've been thinking about this: I have a past.

Even sitting here, writing this, I can feel the pink goop exploding across the room, memories and haunts, insane-hysterical laughter and dark-pit times. I have times I want to go back to and moments I'm trying to shove into back recesses of closets, never to see the light of day.

These last few weeks, as I've been looking at a increasingly sad, lacking-in-a-professional-way, resume, I feel like screaming out, I have a past! I have experience. I have so many skills. I just don't know how to put it in a resume.

Making new friends and catching up with old friends, I feel like saying, I have a past. So many moments have changed my heart. To old friends, I want to say, but I'm different than I was. To new friends, I want to say, if only you knew me then. Because so much in the past few years has developed me in the now. Hurts and healing. Old battle wounds and fresh scars. New purpose, old dreams.

Even if you haven't walked with me through it, I have a past.

We all do, I suppose. Everyone has been somewhere, gone through something, to get to where they are today. But since August, it's my past that keeps drawing me back to Psalm 66:8-12.  Paraphrased, it says, "You, Oh God, have tested us, You have tried us as silver is tried. You laid a crushing burden on our backs, You brought us through fire and water, and yet You have brought us into a place of abundance." My past.

Many parts of my past embarrass me. There are so many things I would rather have NO ONE EVER KNOW. From the surprisingly stupid to the depressingly dark, there are a lot of things I would rather have remain hidden. And I won't lie, there are many moments where I thought God had completely abandoned me on some lonely corner of the world, be it Canada, the Cook Islands, Australia, Vanuatu, Thailand, the list could go on.

There have been many degrees of moments, fire, water, and burdens. But read the end of Psalm 66:12: yet you have brought me into a place of abundance...

I often joke about my old age. But I'm really not that old. Only 26 as a matter of fact (for any of you trying to do the math, yep, proud to be an 80s child). Still, I can see how God has brought me through testing into abundance, already, in such a short period of time.
From one corner of the world to the other, I've seen His hand move in many different ways.
And more importantly, I've seen His hand move in my heart, through my past, and I trust, into my future. Whatever country I live in, whatever my life will one day look like, He's the One that's shaped my past in order to bring me into the present, and will walk with me through the rest of my life.

Sometimes, we don't think that things can get better as they go on. How can something get more beautiful? But God grows us in richness and colour and depth. The more colourful our past, the more beautiful He can make our future.

At breakfast with friends one morning this past week, someone pointed out Paul the apostle. We think of Paul as this crazy hero of the Bible. Which he is. But he was also human. And he had a past. Like a super messed-up past. He was responsible for the death of many Christians, and God used him to build the church. But he had to live with his past. He wrote so beautifully about grace, because he had to experience greater depths of God's grace.

It gives me hope. A dirty, stained past does not need to equal no future. God's hand is continually making a path for me into an abundance of life.

He has my moments. All of them. And furthermore, I don't need to be ashamed of them. Without them, I would't be the me I am today.

So, today, I'm reigning in that pink goop. I'm cleaning up the mess and taking control of the fear that reigns when I think of how other people see me. Because, I am a child of God. He's simply, not finished with me yet. 

Authenti-Say What?!?!?

Authenticity is defined by my dictionary as:
1. Being of undisputed origin
2. Being reliable or trustworthy

Brene Brown has said that choosing authenticity means cultivating the courage to be emotionally honest, to set boundaries, and to allow ourselves to be vulnerable; exercising the compassion that comes from knowing that we are all made of strength and struggle and connected to each other through a loving and resilient human spirit; nurturing the connection and sense of belonging that can only happen when we let go of what we are supposed to be and embrace who we are.  

To me, being authentic simply translates into being real. 

I was going to scrap this post. Just leave it, think of something different to write. I couldn't think of anything, and to be honest, I still haven't really thought of anything to write, but after this week, I'll accept the challenge and see what happens on the other side. 

It's Friday, very early morning, and I've been up almost all night. (And it's not because I've had too much coffee, I only had 1 1/2 cups yesterday, for all of you who are sitting and smirking and telling me in your minds that I drink too much coffee.) I'm in limbo. I don't have a job and I think this is what you call delayed jet lag, I'm not sure it's a thing, but I'm on my way to making it a thing. 

And right about here is where you go, I thought at the beginning of this she was defining, what was the word? Oh yeah, authenticity. 

I was, and I still am. 

Please, take a little journey with me into history. 2 Kings 2 is the story of Elijah being taken into heaven (side note: how cool would not dying be?) and Elisha being blessed with a double portion of his spirit. I read this story earlier in the week and it struck me in a fully new light. I also didn't know what this week would be like for me personally, so I kinda just archived it away in the brain and moved on, but I'm seeing now, how much deeper God wants to pull me into this story.

Elisha, bless his heart, wants a double portion of the spirit Elijah had. Essentially, he's asking for a double amount of God.  Elijah says, "If you see me taken into heaven, your request will be granted." Elisha, stubbornly persistent, stays with Elijah and sees him being swept away in a whirlwind of chariots and fire. The double portion of the spirit seems to immediately rest on him, as he takes Elijah's cloak, rolls it up, and hits the water with it, crossing the Jordan River back into Jericho. (A Bible teacher once mentioned, and I've never looked into it, so if it's wrong forgive me, that Elisha has double the amount of miracles recorded in the Bible than Elijah had, but if it's true, request granted and fulfilled.)

Up to this point, in my Bible reading, I'm going, "God, make me more like Elisha, look how much he wanted You. I want You that way." And then I read the rest of the chapter. 

Elisha crosses the Jordan River and is met by the sons of the prophets who are all amazed that Elisha has been given Elijah's spirit and immediately petition him to send people to go see if God has just dropped Elijah off in the mountains somewhere. Elisha says no, but after being approached repeatedly, he gives in, the ESV says, feeling ashamed, and sends men into the mountains to see if Elijah has fallen out of God's chariot into a mountain or valley somewhere. The strong men search for 3 days and return empty-handed. Elisha says to them, "See, told you not to go."

Second story: Elisha leaves Jericho and heads to Bethel. As he's leaving, boys come out and mock him, calling him a bald-head. Elisha turns and pronounces a curse on them and 2 bears come out of the woods and maul 42 boys, I'm assuming to death, but the Bible doesn't actually say. 

And you're probably still thinking, so authenticity???

Elisha is gung-ho, totally pumped up and completely hungry for God. He has been mentored by Elijah, seen miracles, gleaned wisdom, and now watched the man he admires disappear into God's care without physically dying. How incredibly radical?!?! But I wonder, how long does it take for him to realize that now people will be looking to him to be the man of God that Elijah was? When does the insecurity start to step in?

I'm thinking, not very long, if the first people he meets, try to get him to doubt that God's ability and His care of His children. Let me just put it this way, how likely is it that God would allow someone to fall out of His chariot? But the men shame Elisha into sending men to go and look for Elijah. Elisha is feeling the pressure to please others more than pleasing God. His insecurity in his new role translates into doubt of God. 

The second story just proves to illustrate a further insecurity. So I haven't studied it, and there may be some cultural connotation to this story, and if there is, please let me know. But from plain reading, it seems like Elisha is just insecure about his looks. Not fully whole in who God has created him to be.

I'm bringing this up, because I'm beginning to believe that it is impossible to be authentic when we allow our insecurities to rule our lives. We begin to produce facades, projecting images to others of who we'd like to be perceived as, not of who we actually are. We try to continually project to society that we're okay, we have this all together. 

We don't. We're all hopelessly flawed and life is just super hard. 

I understand that there is some performance-based action that is good and also that we still have to live up to some societal norms. It's not necessarily good to tell people every single little issue happening in your life. But I want to challenge us to be real. Find those people in your life that you can talk to if you're struggling or connect to if God has brought you through something hard and they're going through the same thing.

Life sucks sometimes, there are cancer scares, pregnancy scares, suicide scares. People are hurting. So deeply. People are being challenged by life every day and they're feeling like they're walking this journey alone. 

I've been through things that I don't want to go through ever again. Many days, I don't even want to be reminded of the past. I want to close the lid and pretend it never happened. I think we all have those things. But we need to realize that we've come through things for a reason, and it's generally so that we can walk through it with someone else. 

God created us for community. Community is real and it's hard and it's beautiful. But the best way to do it, is by being authentic with the people that God has placed around you. 

Who can you connect with today? Who is going to be part of your life-journey?

Silent

I've been silent for a little while. Well, not me exactly. The blog has been silent.

My life has been anything but silent. I've been adventuring. And it's been awesome. I left La Crete on the 17th of August and I arrived in Rarotonga on the 21st of August, after delayed flights and lost luggage, in the middle of a tropical deluge.

My time in Rarotonga was alternately wet and sunny, cold and hot, happy and sad, but one thing it was not was silent.

I made new friends, built deeper relationships, babysat, pretty much wiped out my creativity, jogged on the beach, practiced my non-existent swimming and dancing skills, laughed much too hard, and spent more hours at the playground than most children, but it wasn't silent.

Since returning to Canada, I've taken a few road trips, laughed too much, mourned the passing of summer, caught up with friends, made plans with more friends, wrestled with my siblings, and started an Alberta-wide job hunt. But I haven't been silent.

Today, after a run, a few hours in town, and visiting with my grandparents, I came home to an empty house, grand, big and silent, with a warm fire and silence. Complete and utter silence.

No people, no music, no laughing. It was weird. It was scary. So I turned on Netflix. I justified it, because I hadn't watched anything on Netflix for 2 months.

But now I'm sitting here, realizing, that I don't do silence. I'm always connected, someway, to something or someone.

Where is the Be still and know that I am God? It's not. I'm beginning to realize that I can't be quiet with God, and that means that there is no depth of character, no substance to my soul.

This is something to practice. This is something to teach my soul. It's time to unplug and plug into God. Corny, I know, kinda lame, but I think it's time to face the fear, and see what God has in store for me.

Life Lessons from Atuk

Yesterday, after a super long day at work, I went for a run. Maybe more of a slog, actually. With the rain the last few days, all of my regular trails have turned into a nice muck. I'd already finished my workout for the day but I was bored and waiting for a load of laundry to finish, so I laced up my shoes at 9 in the evening and took off. 

I didn't run to workout or to beat a time or to stay in shape. I ran because it was gorgeous outside, it was raining, and I wanted to. Lately all my runs have been pre-planned, timed goals. Yesterday I ran for me. And it was exhilarating! I ran up hills, just so I could run down. I sprinted, I jogged, I stopped to take pictures. I got stuck in a swamp. I sloshed through puddles. I was soaked from the head down or the toes up, whichever you prefer.

 

I also ran by myself. Which is normal and not normal all at the same time. I never run with people, well, hardly ever. I'm too social and want to chat with whoever about everything under the sun. Difficult while running, generally, and frustrating!  

I always take Atuk (family dog for years & years) with me when I run at home. For protection (read: to appease my dads mind). We'd run together through the bush, the fields, the back quarter section, the highway, the gravel, wherever I felt like, kinda on some crazy race to see who could go longest. But yesterday marked a week since I took her to the vet to get her put down after she was accidentally driven over, and then buried her in one of her favourite places on mom and dads land. 

So yesterday's run was bittersweet. But I thought a lot while I was running, and even though this is pretty cheesy, and might just show how dorky I really am, here are some life lessons that I learned from my baby. 

1. Loyalty: Atuk loved us. Always. No matter what. She protected us. She sided with us. She turned fierce anytime anything even remotely threatened us. 

I can't count how many times I watched all her fur raise on end, because of a threat, real or perceived. We would always laugh about it. But now I miss it. I want to show that kind of loyalty to my friends and family, as well as all the people that God brings into my life. There are many who need advocates in this world, very few who advocate on behalf of others, especially in the face of danger. 

2. Selfless Love: I know she was a dog and not a person, but she demonstrated love towards us over and over again.I didn't realize just how much until last week, when she got driven over. I came upstairs and mom told me what happened. I freaked and ran outside, calling her over and over again. She'd already taken herself into the bush, probably to hide until she passed away. But me calling her, brought her out of hiding, she could hardly see and hardly walk, but she wouldn't relax until she knew that I was ok. I cried so hard as I watched her try to nuzzle me ok, even though she barely figure out how to find my hands. And she was like that always. 

We'd run til she was tired out, heaving on the lawn. Still, if I wanted to go again, she'd leap up as fast as possible, and force herself out again.

If I put others ahead of me that way, even though it inconvenienced me or made me tired, I would be a much better friend. 

3. Constance: She was constant. In a home where we all have wandering feet and can't stay in one place for very long, Atuk was the one who always greeted us when we got home, whatever hour of day or night that happened to be. 

In a weird way, Atuk taught me hospitality, to be ready to greet people with love, whatever time, whatever situation. 

4. To let go: Anyone who has been to my family's home in the past 10 years, knows that Atuk is/was part of the family. She had a personality and her own fair share of quirks that fit right in with the rest of us. 

She had some sort of sixth sense, and she could tell when something big was going to happen.

Shannon and I have moved around a lot in the last 7 years, coming home for a few days to a few months before we set off again. 

Last year, Atuk had had enough apparently. We were getting ready to move into town, about to load up all of our furniture into Shannon's pick-up box, when I Atuk jumped up and planted herself firmly on the end gate, refusing to let us load anything. No amount of coaxing would get her off. We finally dragged her off (all 400 pounds of stubborn) only to have her plant herself on the ground, directly in our path, trying with all her might to trip us. It was hilarious. But in the end, she let us go, again. She just watched sadly from the sidelines, and then continued to greet us happily every time we'd come back for a visit.

I've had to say a lot of good-byes in my life. I hate them. I'd rather sneak off silently, and then not allow those people back into my life. But I'm learning that there is always room for more love. And true love lets others be free, allows them to leave and return at will. (If you're doubting the biblicalness {yes, I know that's not a word} of that, read Hosea and prepare to be mind-blown). 

5. And finally, To Have Fun: Atuk caused mischief wherever she went. She played. She enjoyed simple things, like riding on the back of a pick-up, a good belly rub, some sweet words in her ear, a good romp in the forest. She dug up moms flowers for attention. 

Minus that last one, her pleasures were good. 

She had joy. Even in her old age. 

I think that one's self-explanatory. 

At the end of my run yesterday, I was a little sad. Life is a bit empty now, with her gone. I still expect her to come running out at me every time I open a door. But she was just a dog, and the loss of her isn't nearly as traumatic as the loss of a person. 

Still I'm glad that she's been in the family for so long and that we can laugh at the memory of her. And I'm glad that she's taught me so much over the years. 

Tiny Life Announcement

So, little announcement to make! Most of you probably know this already, but just in case there's someone I haven't told yet, it's going public. 

I'm heading back to the Cooks! Yay! It's only a short trip. I'm leaving closer to the end of August and I'm going to be back before the middle of October.

I have been trying to keep this a little under wraps, but I've already heard that I'm leaving for a couple years, etc, (lol gotta love it) so I'm thinking it's time to publicly let you all know what I'm doing.

When I came back to La Crete last April, I was aiming to leave by December. I started applying to go to different places, was preparing to head straight into some form of long-term ministry. It's now July of the following year, and I'm still here. 

I know that God has a plan and that He's working things out as He sees fit. So I'm living day by day, waiting to see what He reveals for my next steps. I can't say that I haven't been impatient. God, however, totally opened up Psalm 121 to me in a whole different light for this season. He showed me that He is an active God, He is actively working, even when I don't see anything happening. 😀 

At the same time, I can feel that it's time for a change. So I've given my notice at my job, I'm heading to the Cooks for a few weeks to help out, to connect with mentors, and to spend some time really focused on God, listening for next steps. 

So far, I'm heading back to La Crete when I come back. And I'm totally good with that. I'm not sure what I'll be doing, but I also know that God will reveal that in His time. 

So for anyone who was curious, I hope that settles some of your questions. Feel free to come chat with me whenever if you have any questions or concerns! 

Blessings. Hope you're all having an amazing summer, or winter, wherever in the world you are:)

Identity

Identity is a funny word, an odd concept, really. So often I find myself defining the parameters in how I want people to see me. But it really doesn't matter what I say about myself or how I define me, how a person perceives me is up to them.

So what is identity? Simply put, it is who we are. I have been realizing however, that who we think we are, is so often not who we really are. Our perceptions are misconceived. 

I started thinking about this right before I went to visit the Cook Islands. (And just a note here: this post is going to be really personal.

About stuff I don't necessarily feel comfortable about sharing so publicly. But this is what God has been laying in my heart.) 

Since moving back to Canada, I've put on a lot of weight. In the Cook Islands, before I moved back, I was too thin, everyone was commenting on how skinny I'd gotten. (FYI: for all European/North American readers, that is NOT a compliment). When I moved to Canada, everyone was so happy, til I started bouncing back to a healthier weight (for me). And then I started getting comments the other way, people telling me to lose weight or commenting on how I'd started to get bigger again. So when I was heading back to the Cooks, my mind was in a tailspin. Where, why, how, would people perceive me? What would they say? What would they think? The people in the Cooks were glad to see that I was starting to look healthy again. Lol...and the whiplash between cultural perceptions of beauty sent me reeling. 

Then God started tapping at my heart. Convicting me in my quiet times. Making things generally hard to ignore. Your identity, is not in others, it is in Me. 

I was reminded of it again this afternoon, after reconnecting with an old friend. "If I'm healthy," she said, "it doesn't matter what size I am, my identity should be in Christ, not in what I look like." This friend, by the way, one of the most beautiful women you will ever meet. 

But God has been teaching me about identity in Christ in an even deeper way. Because basing who I am on my looks is not the only way to misplace my identity in Christ. Many of us, also base our identity on usefulness, or what we do.  

How well I swing a hammer, how much work I can do in an hour, how well I do paperwork, also cannot become my identity, my definition, or my worth. 

If we think about leisure or sports or entertainment, many of us will define ourselves according to how well we accomplish these things. Or we define ourselves according to how well we relate to people. I'm shy. I'm awkward. I'm funny. I'm popular. These begin to define us. The things we say about ourselves become the standards by which we behave. 

But even further than that, God has been teaching me that what I think of others can become the standard they define themselves by. And it can be so much deeper than basing beauty on size. 

When I first started working at the store, about a year ago now, something happened that I fully forgot about. A man came into the store (I honestly don't know who this person is), and heard me talking at the till about one of my uncles. He was the next customer and after I said hi to him, he commented 'he's your uncle? Well that means I'm related to you.' This is a very normal part of life in La Crete, so I just said, 'oh that's cool.' He responded, 'Really? Most people wouldn't want to be related to me.' 

I don't know what happened after that, how I responded or if I responded. But around the time God started convicting me of the fact that I based my worth too much in what others thought of me, and not enough on what God thought of me, I also started noticing when this man came into the store. I think that God was heightening my awareness so that He could teach me. Every time this man came in, he would say something like, 'everyone one run, the crazy one is back.' 'Oh look, I'm probably the last person you want to see today.' It bothered me. It actually still bothers me. It makes me completely furious when I think about it. 

I don't know this man, but he's allowed what others think of him to define him. He doesn't know that God created him uniquely and with purpose. He doesn't understand that he's not a mistake. 

It makes me wonder, how do I perceive people? Am I quick to judge? Am I quick to listen to what others have to say about a person before I get to know them myself? 

More than that it makes me wonder, do I see people the way God sees them? If I believe that no one on earth was an accident, if I believe that God has a plan and a purpose for each individual, if I believe that everyone was created, hand-crafted by the Father (and I do believe that,with every fibre of my being) then am I treating others in a way that reflects what God thinks of them? 

Do I value every individuals' identity? Do I recognize that even though people are different than I am, they are worth the same in God's eyes? Do I live accordingly? 

I will probably struggle for the rest of my life in basing my identity fully in Christ. I will not always find it easy to recognize the worth God places on all the people that I meet. But I want to try. I want to love because He first loved me. I want to view everyone as created by God, and worth all to Him.

I want my life to reflect His glory. And I want others to be able to as well, because they know and recognize the truth of who they are in God's eyes. 

13 Months and Counting...

The theme this week at Velvet Ashes is re-entry. Reading the featured posts for the week has alternately made me laugh and sob uncontrollably. Not necessarily from feelings of sadness or joy, but rather, relief. 

Yes, it has been just over a year, and yes, it is okay that I still fumble through North American society. It is okay that I don't know what I mean exactly when I refer to home. It is okay that sometimes I don't know what language to speak in, how to gesture to people, and as always, what side of the road to drive on in the middle of the night. Relief...

I laugh sometimes, because when I came back to Canada, I went through debriefing, read the books, did the talks, the prep work for re-entering. And I gave myself two weeks when I came back to get a job and to fully immerse myself into normal culture. I thought I would be ready. I thought I wouldn't think about my other home, my other family. 

Now I know.

Two weeks was nothing. More than that, 

13 months is nothing. I have some semblance of normalcy in my life. I have a routine and a job and a car (one year in I finally bought one, because before this I didn't want to believe that there was a possibility I would be staying here this long). 

13 months is enough time to unpack. It is enough time to form new friendships, and try to balance those with the ones overseas and the old ones from before. 

13 months is exhausting. It is enough time to question every motive, calling, dream. It is  enough time to question everything you thought and once believed. It is enough time for your current worldview to clash with every cultural value once held. 

13 months is freeing. I am learning many things all over again. Why I do certain things the way I do, how to order in a restaurant, how to tip, and to add tax onto labelled prices. 

But more than that, my dreams are beginning to grow again. I am re-discovering passions that I had lost time for. I am doing things I haven't had the opportunity to do since high school.

13 months is enough time to plan and re-plan a hundred escape routes from Canada. It is enough time to have all a hundred of those plans fall through, and it is enough time to totally not know what God has next in store for you, or to have people question why you still work as a cashier, when you've had post-secondary education.

13 months is enough time to grow upset with God because He hasn't revealed His next steps, and then it is also enough time to grow the patience to wait, because whatever adventure comes next will probably be awesome, its just not ready for me yet...

13 months and counting...

Re-entry continues. I've come to realize that it probably will until just before I have to go and learn another culture, language, mindset. I'm looking forward to the challenge. But Im also content knowing that God will bring that about when it is fully time. And in the meantime, I can drink really good coffee, and make really good friends, and enjoy things like peanut butter, just because its cheap. And those are all good things. Because God is a good God!

This Thing Called Change

I am thinking about waves, waves crashing relentlessly onto the shore.

The last day I spent in the Cooks, the two week on-again, off-again storm, fully lifted, and it was beautiful. We packed up and drove to the other side of the island, found a nice, sandy spot, somewhat in the shade, and made camp for the afternoon. 

Foam flecks sprayed in the air, the sun hot on our salty up-turned faces. The waves were huge, continual, the storm surge of a massive cyclone, and as we played in the waves there was a constant pulling at our feet, the current strong, silently urging us to come out to sea. 

So maybe I am not thinking about waves, so much as I am thinking about change. 

I love change. I love it when I make new friends and see new places. I love expanding my home to more people. I love new books, new clothes, new things. I love mastering new skills and setting new records. 

I hate change. I hate it when friends leave or I am pulled away from one home in exchange for another. I hate learning new languages and not being able to communicate in the culturally acceptable way. I hate the ripping, that gut-wrenching tug of tears that threatens to drop at inopportune times, when a certain smell wafts through the air or a certain song is played on the radio, reminders of all those left behind, life-changing, people, places, events.

But change is constant. Our environments are in a constant altercation of death and renewal, surrender and victory, hello and good-bye. 

Today is a good day and a bad day. I made a lovely new friend this morning. I did all I could to avoid saying good-bye to a dear friend this evening. She left anyway.

Last night all the beautiful well-laid plans I'd made for the rest of the year kinda got turned upside down. (I don't normally plan a whole lot, so this kinda just convinced me that planning was quite possibly over-rated).

Change is constant. 

So often I feel like I've just sorted things. One suitcase fully unpacked, one closet fully sorted, and then the whirlwind of life comes through and with one little puff knocks everything out of order again. And I end up questioning, not understanding, probably loving the change, but completely disoriented by it, and what it means for my life. 

Change is constant. 

But God is also constant. Sure. Steadfast. Strong. How does the Scripture put it? A refuge in the time of storm. 

You know what the best part of that day in the waves was? It was not when our feet touched the ground, rather when we let go, lifted our feet, floated on top of and in the midst of the storm surge. It was scary, it was adrenaline rushing, and it was freeing, the relinquish of control.

Kind of like life. The surrender in the midst of the storm is kinda the sweetest and wildest freedom. It is leaning on the strength of the Father, knowing you're in for the craziest ride of your life. 

Or that's how I like to see it anyway. 

Stars and Streetlights

I don't know how to start this post. I just know that I want to write it. So I guess, maybe I'll just have to start, no clever hook or genius opening line...

The sky tonight is inky, like a ball point pen just bust its guts all over the sky. Like, deep into our elbows tattooed, full-on ink. The stars are just a smattering, here and there, held fast, barely twinkling. It's not like this in the Cooks. The sky is very different, very clear, very rarely fully dark.

It's different.

I like the sky both ways. Both ways are home. I'm never totally sure where home is anymore, just wherever I'm laying my head to rest that night. 

I should really delete those last few sentences, they're not relevant to this blog. And maybe I will yet, and maybe I won't yet. I kinda like them there. These are my personal ramblings and I can ramble the way I want.

Tonight's rambling, though, comes from a challenge. I went to my Ladies Bible Study tonight, with all these wonderful, amazing, talented, gifted in different ways, ladies, and we discussed things and we laughed...well, to be honest, mostly we laughed. And then the final question, what are two gifts God has given you this year? I was challenged, am still challenged, even after trying to run out the challenge...a couple miles later, and God is still whispering in my heart.

Because most of the time I'm wanting something I can't have. I'm wanting a place,a  home, a family, country, weather, culture, food, other than what I have in front of me. The wanting can become all-consuming. It can make me look past the value and gift of what I have right here, right in front of me. 

So...The sky tonight is inky, like a ball point pen just bust its guts all over the sky. Like, deep into our elbows tattooed, full-on ink. The stars are just a smattering, here and there, held fast, barely twinkling. It's different in the Cooks. But this is good. 

Know what else is good?

Streetlights, spaced evenly on quiet, straight streets, secure, comforting for late-night wanderers such as myself. Coffee, rich and black, in a variety of forms, from a variety of places, is also good. So are books, endless amounts of books that you can pick up, page through, smell, and then buy. Those are good.

Family is good. Too much family. From your best and favorite brothers and sisters (read ALL of them), to Dad's strong shoulders and Mom's wise words; from aunts, uncles, cousins, to distant aunts, uncles, cousins, who will introduce themselves to you at a moment's notice and know almost as much about you as you do yourself. I am thankful for family. 

Seasons are good. Clear and defined, a constant form of change. Long summer days morph into long winter nights, but the sunrises and sunsets are just as beautiful. The life-breath of spring gives way to the death-sustenance of fall, and both are beautiful. I am thankful for spring rains, mid-July thunderstorms, fall frosts, and white winter blankets, harvest moons, cool clear nights, mud on our tires and snowball fights.

I am thankful for people. So many people, people that defined the language of my heart, shaped the person who I am today, saw the rebellion and the mistakes, and still love me anyway. I am thankful for all the people who will never not say hi and ask how my day, my trip, my year has been. I am thankful for all the people who feel like home. Because people are good. They strengthen me, and pray for me. They make me laugh. They welcome me with open arms. 

Work is good. It gives me a purpose and something to sink my hands into. The people are amazing. Every day I get to laugh. Even on the days I cry, I have probably also laughed. Work is good. 

God is good. He seems different here; somehow, stronger, less wild, stable, familiar. His truth is stronger in my heart. His words deeper. I am thankful for Him. I am thankful for many things, but mostly I am thankful for Him. He gifts Himself to me, fully and completely, every day. That's how I know love. Because of Him.

And I write all these things, and then I am reminded. This is good. Stars and streetlights, books and coffee, friends and family. All good. All meant to be enjoyed, tasted full-like. 

God whispers, these are my gifts to you...

There is No 'I' in Team

Strong, independent, wild, free. Those are adjectives that resonate deep within my self. I will be the first to admit that I am more than a little in love with the gypsy lifestyle.

Travel, freedom, lack of commitment. Those are, unfortunately, my ideals, the ideas that I slide into by default. 

Most of the time I don't want to admit that there's anything wrong with the way that I live. I mean, who doesn't dream of taking off into the unknown, spontaneously, at least every once in awhile. I like to tell myself that I'm just a creative, free-thinking dreamer, living in my very own little reality.

Truth: I'm a runner. When times get hard physically, I disappear out the door, town, country. When an emotional crisis or awkward confrontation comes to a head, I leave-often physically, and if blockaded from physically disappearing, the emotional withdrawal is immediate. Sometimes I watch helplessly as I watch my little self running frantically over the hills in my mind, struggling to stay engaged with whatever is happening in the reality of the moment.

Why am I babbling on about my tendency to disappear? The word is team. Well for me, I would say, that much more accurately, the word is community.

I remember my first time attempting to help navigate a team through an airport, through a city, through 5 months of their life. I was horrible, not being a team player by nature, navigating a team for me felt more like locking myself in a closet and ripping every single hair out of my head. Working within a team leadership felt like death. The thought that other people might have different standards or ideas on how to disciple individuals was just absurd and I butted heads on a daily, if not hourly, basis. 

All those shameful glimpse to further prove how un-team I am.

I worked with good, godly people though. People who saw something more in me than my inability to trust or rely on anyone else for help. Through much coaching, patience, prayer and a few...arguments...ok, let's be truthful, all out fights, I slowly began to be more of a team player. 

I still hate travelling with other people. I would much rather breeze through customs and wander around airport terminals, people watching and shopping. I would rather tackle work projects all on my own, because my creative process and my final outcome are always exactly the way I want them. And I would rather live on my own because it means that the pot of coffee is always brewed to perfection and it is always all mine. But those are semantics and through the past years I have learned the value of team...the beauty of community.

It is refreshing to have others contribute their strengths to complement my weaknesses. It is rewarding to offer my strengths in order to serve others' needs. It is comforting, at the end of an unbearably hard day, to weep at the table of a friend and have them pray for you. It is welcome to walk into corporate worship and have souls bound together in sorrow and laughter, draw near to the heart of God. It is even good, to offer that pot of coffee, in exchange for deep (or undeep) conversation, souls walking together for this season of life. 

God created us for community. He created us for team. Nowhere in Scripture do we ever see someone walking completely alone. Only Adam, and God created a companion suitable to him, and then declared it very good. 

I will always be independent. My default will probably always be to do it on my own. But as I get older I see and value the wisdom of walking with others, whoever God has placed in my life for that season of the journey. People are a gift, a very rich blessing from God. There is no "I" in team. Just a Together Everyone Achieves More, as one of my fellow life-walkers aptly explained to me. 

I, of course, promptly rejected his advice and am still learning his wisdom the hard way. That was 4 years ago...maybe in the next 4 I'll have learned, but if not, you'll probably be able to track my boarding passes and find me still learning it the hard way...

Scars

Scar: I have a love/hate relationship with that word. Scars mean wounds. Wounds mean pain. Pain means somewhere, something was vulnerable.

I don't do vulnerability. I don't do pain.

Still, I have scars. So many scars. There are physical scars. Scars from the typical childhood accidents. Scars from the possibly not so typical but very frequently, clumsy adult. The not normal, evidence of deep soul hurts, self-inflicted scars.

And then the soul scars. Spiritual scars from well-meaning mentors and spiritual figures. Emotional scars from traumatic teenage events. Relationship scars from battling cross-culturally, sometimes winning, mostly losing.

I am well and truly marked. Crisscrossed lines run over skin and soul. Some wounds heal, are never thought of again. Other scars...other scars...they ache, are felt daily, down to the bone, like arthritis or tiredness that causes the whole body to hurt.

I want to hide in my shame. Scars are ugly, show evidence of weakness, failure. Scars mark us, cause us to stand out. I don't love my scars.

Years of cutting have made the flesh weak, frail, paper-thin.

Years of people hurts have made the soul fragile, stiff, easily spooked, like a head-shy horse.

I read a quote once "The problem with us is that we compare our behind the scenes to everyone else's highlight reel."

I compare my unspoken shame to everyone else's victory. Don't we all?

But we are all human, we are all soul-scarred. We all have our shame that haunts us; always there is unspoken grief, unspoken guilt.

We carry it around, burdened, always hiding.

God longs for us to be free. Our secrets exposed, our grief healed.

Someone told me once that God is not only a God who heals, He is also a God who restores. A man's arm can be amputated, and the site of amputation can be healed. But God has the power to restore that arm, to make it whole again.

He does that with our souls. The stiff, rigid, easily-spooked soul scars, those can simply be healed, no longer aching, or they can be restored, so that places once wounded have no evidence of hurt, they are fully alive.

I'm still waiting. God is slowly restoring, even as the physical scars have faded with time, aching gone, no reminders of the once searing pain, so also the soul is healing, brought back to full life where words and memories are joy not pain. Sin erased, no longer shackled by shame.

This is Good Friday morning. The day we commemorate Christ's death, His suffering, the day He took our scars and replaced them with a promise of hope, life, joy.

This Easter I find myself challenged to embrace His finished work on the cross, to abandon the shame, to surrender to His healing power.

God, let me walk forward in victory!

The Waiting

Yesterday morning, I found myself in the rush of the century. I had slept way too late, on account of having gone to bed way too late (currently blaming jet lag for the late nights), and found myself not having the time I needed for a proper quiet time. 

So I asked God if He could just speak something to me quickly. I wanted something to carry with me through the day. "Patience of Hope" impressed itself into my soul. And I was like, "thanks God, but what does that even mean?"

But, no time to ponder over that one. It was time for shoes on and out the door. But as I was walking to work, the phrase kept playing over again in my head. patience of hope, patience of hope, patience of hope...

Still no comprehension. 

And then, as I was helping my first customer at work, a story came to me. The story of Jacob and how he worked for Laban 14 years so that he'd be allowed to marry Rachel. patience of hope...

To work 14 years to be able to marry someone requires a lot of patience. I think that much patience is only possible if you have a great hope waiting for you on the other side. 

I had my little aha! moment, right there at the till; followed by an awkward moment with my customer since I'd been lost in my own little world for a bit (save that story for another day). 

But as I realized what patience of hope meant, stories of Bible characters flooded my mind, all examples of this phrase. 

Joseph received a dream, was then sold into slavery, thrown into prison, and then made governor of Egypt before his dream was fulfilled. Moses lived in the desert for 40 years before he became leader over the Israelites and then had to wander the desert for 40 years before setting eyes on the promised land. David was anointed king years before he ever came to the throne.

Hebrews 11 is a chapter full of people that had to go through the waiting in order to see their hope fulfilled. 

The waiting....sigh...

It was actually the perfect word for me for the week. I came back from the Cooks and I was ready to pack up, turn around and fly back. It's been so long!! I want to be back on the field, I want to head back...right this instant. 

God's time is not our time. Bible history records 4000 years of waiting for the promised Messiah and we are now 2000 years waiting for the return of Christ. But every generation had the hope of His coming. 

God is a God of patience. He works in mysterious ways, incomprehensible to our tiny minds. 

Patience builds character, prepares us for the future. Marinate, don't microwave. 

So, I hate waiting, I want to be back RIGHT NOW. But God is reminding me, one step, one day at a time. 

Enjoy the journey, it's the biggest part of the adventure. 

Where are you at in 'the waiting'?

Coffee Goals for 2015

So...as anyone who knows me, knows, coffee is a very important staple to a happy Darla...
This year one of my goals for 2015 is to try many coffees from around the world. From my own living room :)

Here's the list:

If you can't see it properly, find it at this link... http://www.lifehack.org/articles/lifestyle/lets-explore-the-world-delicious-coffee.html

And here's the first one I'm trying:

Cafe Bombon originally from Spain. Equal parts of sweetened condensed milk and espresso. Yum!

#iheartcoffee 

Niche: Where I Belong

Niche: (n) the status of an organism within its environment and community

The definition for niche has been imprinted in the back of my brain since Grade 8 Science class,back when I could read text once and literally retain it forever. Oh to have that brain back. But side track...

This past week, The Grove featured a week on the word niche. You can check out their posts and other featured posts here http://velvetashes.com/have-you-seen-january-18-2015/

I've been reading these posts all week, a hard lump growing on the inside of my chest, making it hard to swallow, hard to breathe.

Niche has to do with belonging, interacting, community. Environment.

What a word. And what a not definition of my life. Since I graduated almost 8 (where has the time gone????) years ago, I have lived in 4 different communities, spanning 2 Canadian provinces and one South Pacific nation. I have spent time in (rough estimate) 7 countries and interacted with numerous church bodies and people from literally all around the world.

In the past 8 months of being back in my home community, I've struggled to drive on the correct side of the road, know when doors are locked or unlocked, and how to turn on light switches. I've struggled to connect in church, with old friends, and how to make new friends. Relationships are different, activities are different, language is different. Summer was cold and now with the advent of ice and snow, shoes are difficult. Walking on ice and snow is especially difficult.

Please don't get me wrong. I love being right where God places me, and being in northern Alberta, is not something I regret. Even with the difficulties, or maybe even because of the difficulties, I laugh everyday, multiple times a day. God has given me an extra measure of joy for this season and my relationships are fuller and richer because of it.

But niche. Niche is hard. Where do I actually belong? Who is actually my family? Which church am I part of? I never imagined myself asking these questions. I always knew who I was and where I fit. Belonging was never something I questioned.

Early Friday morning as I was praying about this, crying about these issues, telling God I didn't know if I would ever have a home in the true sense of the word again, He spoke to me softly. I am your niche. Your belonging is in Me.

And slowly, over the past few days, that has begun to sink in. I belong in Christ. At His feet, I have home, family, belonging. His heart envelopes and engulfs who I am, where I will go, who I will encounter and what I will become.

I hear His whispers in every situation, and every time my compass looks like it will begin pointing the wrong direction, He points it back to Himself. In my search for belonging, in the midst of identity crisis , and the questions I have about my future, He is my niche. God is the One who creates my environment, my community, and He is the One who ordains how I act and interact within it.

I am living a life where my community is always going to be re-defined. One day, I'll return to living cross-culturally, and everything will be new again. There will always be new people and new situations to expand my life, my needs, my way of thinking, and I will always be changing in a direction opposite to the way my birth community is changing. It's the life I have chosen.

But if I can keep this one thing in mind, that God is where I belong. I think I'll be ok. My identity and my worth is found in Him, not on externals.

Do you struggle with belonging? Can you find your place at the feet of Christ?