My mother is a lovely God-fearing woman who used to tell me that God knew how many hairs I had on my head. I didn't really believe her. After all these years, it turns out that she was right.
I'm learning that God is in the details. Not being a detail-oriented person myself, I often shrug my shoulders, figuring that everything will work itself out.
When Jesus talked about the birds of the air and the flowers of the field, and how much more he loves and provides for us, I'm realizing that he meant it. I'm reminded of the popular Sunday school song anthem that boasts, "He's got the whole wide world in his hands."
In between long hours of business plans, phone calls, travel arrangements, and finishing up at my current job, God has been there, working his magic. He's been busy filling in the details of a plan, which, at first glance, seemed impossible.
For example, tomorrow I will sign a lease for a beautiful 3-bedroom Victorian home in the Easttown district of my city. The owner "Googled" my name, which sparked a conversation about careers. We are both writers. We both left the corporate world to start our own ventures.
I spilled everything--the travel plans, financial instabilities, high risk, first year cash flow issues, no proof of employment--and instead of rejecting us, he decided to slice rent in third, cancel any security deposit and delay rent for a month.
God.
I talked to a good friend late last night, and we traded stories of how God has been working in our lives. We talked about how often he blesses us or teaches us, and how quickly we revert to the thought that we had something to do with it.
God.
I love our stories. I love to hear how God is moving. Unfortunately, we often don't share about our spiritual journeys as often as we should. Last week, our men's small group took an entire night to listen to each others stories, to share, to vent, to pray, to ask.
Life is a journey of people; we are creatures with eternal value.
Tonight I worshipped with my community, surrounded by people in love with God and those in search of Him. Tonight they prayed for the journey ahead, sending blessings, and offered me up to God to do the work He's out to do in my life.
Tonight I said goodbye to my community. I will miss them. I think of how I almost left this city for new beginnings. I think about what it would've been like to leave everything behind. And I have this growing confidence that the work here is not yet finished.
There's more to learn, more life to live, more people to love, more stories to tell.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Monday, June 26, 2006
she was...
she was the oriental queen of the information superhighway,
a sign of hope, of peace, of love come my way,
both fast and slow-moving, but always on time,
two clocks tick; one God's, one mine...
a sign of hope, of peace, of love come my way,
both fast and slow-moving, but always on time,
two clocks tick; one God's, one mine...
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
welcome to summer
This is the first day of summer.
It's 9:10 in the morning, but the sky could easily pass as a frosty dusk in December. The dark grayscale clouds are hovering above, dulling my office space. The scene triggers memories of Will Smith’s Independence Day or the arrival of alien abductors from Area 51.
And I’m reminded again that things don’t always turn out the way I think they should.
I would think that today, in celebration of summer, I would be forced to shut my blinds because the sun is busy throwing a “welcome back to Michigan party” in the cosmos, dishing out sunburns and forcing those outside to seek water for refuge.
Instead, I am sitting in this quiet morning darkness, waiting for a storm. It’s not what I expected.
Soon, thunder and lightning will shake the earth; the noise will startle and excite us, dogs will bark, babies will cry and adults will gaze in awe at the storm's power.
On the first day of summer, children will be forced to sit inside and play video games, instead of street baseball or riding bikes or swimming at the lake.
Our willingness to enjoy the unexpected, to celebrate both sun and storm in recognition that we do not have control, will aid us as we journey.
It's 9:10 in the morning, but the sky could easily pass as a frosty dusk in December. The dark grayscale clouds are hovering above, dulling my office space. The scene triggers memories of Will Smith’s Independence Day or the arrival of alien abductors from Area 51.
And I’m reminded again that things don’t always turn out the way I think they should.
I would think that today, in celebration of summer, I would be forced to shut my blinds because the sun is busy throwing a “welcome back to Michigan party” in the cosmos, dishing out sunburns and forcing those outside to seek water for refuge.
Instead, I am sitting in this quiet morning darkness, waiting for a storm. It’s not what I expected.
Soon, thunder and lightning will shake the earth; the noise will startle and excite us, dogs will bark, babies will cry and adults will gaze in awe at the storm's power.
On the first day of summer, children will be forced to sit inside and play video games, instead of street baseball or riding bikes or swimming at the lake.
Our willingness to enjoy the unexpected, to celebrate both sun and storm in recognition that we do not have control, will aid us as we journey.
Friday, June 02, 2006
peace through the fog
As the thick white fog poofed though the vents, my guts informed my hollow brain that this was not good.
Though I’m no mechanic, I knew smoke inside a car under any circumstance—especially without turning the vents on—is inappropriate. Though I didn’t order white fog to invade my car on my morning commute, life is full of surprises.
Naturally, like any procrastinating-and-slightly-embittered used car owner would, I turned up the music and cracked the window. Problem solved, for now.
“Lord I don’t know where all this is going, or how it all works out.
Lead me to peace that is past understanding, a peace beyond all doubt.”
As I repressed the smoke and tuned into the music, the CD player sang these perfect words for me. Because you see, thick white fog in my struggling 1996 VW Jetta with a burnt out clutch, no shocks and three hubcaps, is actually further down on my list of items to be concerned about.
I recently quit my steady job to backpack Europe for six weeks, though I don’t have the money to do it. The weekly paychecks, health insurance, job security, paid vacation—will soon be gone.
The old cliché “you have to pay to play” has oddly become reality.
Simultaneously, I’m launching a video productions company with a college friend. With less than five weeks until I arrive in London on Independence Day, we haven’t even chosen the city we’ll be living in.
And the truth is this: I don’t know where this is going. I don’t know how it’ll work out.
I don’t know if I’ll endure another Michigan winter, officially become an immigrant troll and marry a Dutch princess, or if I’ll fall in love with a Southern Bell (yes, God, please) and country music (please, no, God) and emerge with a southern-twang-mixed-with-an-artic-Yooper dialect.
As intimidating as the path before us often appears, we must recognize God as the author of mystery, and trust that his ways and thoughts are superior to ours.
His promises? They’re real. His peace? Beyond all doubt.
The Word:
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:8-9)
“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:7)
Song lyrics from Newsboys, Lord (I Don’t Know)
Though I’m no mechanic, I knew smoke inside a car under any circumstance—especially without turning the vents on—is inappropriate. Though I didn’t order white fog to invade my car on my morning commute, life is full of surprises.
Naturally, like any procrastinating-and-slightly-embittered used car owner would, I turned up the music and cracked the window. Problem solved, for now.
“Lord I don’t know where all this is going, or how it all works out.
Lead me to peace that is past understanding, a peace beyond all doubt.”
As I repressed the smoke and tuned into the music, the CD player sang these perfect words for me. Because you see, thick white fog in my struggling 1996 VW Jetta with a burnt out clutch, no shocks and three hubcaps, is actually further down on my list of items to be concerned about.
I recently quit my steady job to backpack Europe for six weeks, though I don’t have the money to do it. The weekly paychecks, health insurance, job security, paid vacation—will soon be gone.
The old cliché “you have to pay to play” has oddly become reality.
Simultaneously, I’m launching a video productions company with a college friend. With less than five weeks until I arrive in London on Independence Day, we haven’t even chosen the city we’ll be living in.
And the truth is this: I don’t know where this is going. I don’t know how it’ll work out.
I don’t know if I’ll endure another Michigan winter, officially become an immigrant troll and marry a Dutch princess, or if I’ll fall in love with a Southern Bell (yes, God, please) and country music (please, no, God) and emerge with a southern-twang-mixed-with-an-artic-Yooper dialect.
As intimidating as the path before us often appears, we must recognize God as the author of mystery, and trust that his ways and thoughts are superior to ours.
His promises? They’re real. His peace? Beyond all doubt.
The Word:
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:8-9)
“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:7)
Song lyrics from Newsboys, Lord (I Don’t Know)
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