crawling back onto the altar
“To live a life of prayer, of sacrifice, of surrender to God.”
Twelve years ago I penned those words as my life mission statement. I wanted to be intentional about making my life count for something greater than me. I wanted to be deliberate about leveraging my life for His glory. And everything I could see myself doing boiled down to that simple statement.
I said simple, not easy. ‘Cause it’s been anything but easy.
Those words have been ringing in my ears this past week. Prayer, sacrifice, surrender to God. Do I still mean it?
I want to say I’m willing, even when I don’t know what He’s asking me to do. I want to follow Him even when I don’t know which way He wants me to go. I want to serve Him even when it means giving up my own notions of how I can best do that. I want to honor and glorify Him with every breath, every word, every step.
The only problem with being a living sacrifice is my tendency to crawl off the altar. When I can’t see what’s next, when the flames of uncertainty seem too much for me to bear, sometimes I climb off. I choose to follow fear instead of faith. I long for the certainties of Egypt over the uncertainties of freedom.
But I’m done. Today I’m climbing back on the altar.
The Lord Himself goes before me and will be with me. Among all the unknowns and uncertainty, He is already there. He knows. He is certain. So if I remain in Him, I can have confidence and peace even when facing more uncertainties than ever before in my life.
As I’ve ruminated on it and wrestled through it, I know this much is true: I still want each moment of my life to be one of prayer, of sacrifice, of surrender to God.
Use me however You want, God. However You want.
four-minute friday: bread butts
Go.
I can’t stand banana butts. Or hot dog butts. And I really don’t like bread butts.
But I used to feel like I needed to be a bread butt martyr. I’d eat them, even though I hate them. Simply so someone else didn’t need to. I’m realizing that I do that with a lot of things. I’ll choose what I don’t like if I feel that decision will be better for others in some way.
But I had an epiphany about the butts: Some sacrifices just don’t need to be made.
Bread butts simply do not need to be eaten. By anyone. So I stopped taking one for the team and started giving the butts to the birds.
Everybody wins.
Done.
Your turn! Leave a four-minute comment about bread butts…
four-minute friday: whatchawaitingfor?
Go.
In the past six months…
- I haven’t had a single sore throat. (I used to have one almost every day.)
- I haven’t had a cold. (Despite sitting in a germ-infested airplane for 17 hours, traveling from hot summer to freezing winter.)
- I’ve been able to swallow pills much easier. (Although I still do my throw-my-head-back-and-swoosh maneuver, just to be safe.)
And that, my friends, is nothing short of a miracle as far as I’m concerned. So the question remains: Why did I wait so long to get my tonsils removed? Ugh.
What’s something you know you should do something about? Why are you waiting?
Done.
four-minute friday: he held both
Go.
I can’t shake this thought, even though it’s really hard for me to dwell on right now:
Jesus hung on that cross to take more than my own sins. He also hung there to carry the sins of others that hurt me deeply. And in that same instant, He hung there to carry the pain and sorrow I feel because of those sins against me.
In the very same moment, He held both. Wept for both. Bore the eternal burden of both.
So that both of us could be free.
Done.
four-minute friday: soundtrack
Go.
Music moves me. That sounds corny. And I’m trying to think of a less cheeseball way to say what I mean, but with the clock ticking, I feel pressure to just keep rambling writing.
Music really is therapeutic to me. God speaks through lyrics and melody lines. He whispers through egg shakers and nudges me with notable percussion. I feel Him in a singer’s voice that takes me by surprise.
My iPod is one of my most prized possessions; it carries a song for every occasion. I’m often behind the times with what others are listening to, but I’m okay with that. I have plenty of music from my favorite “genre”: melancholy.
I didn’t bring a car adapter with me to the States, so I’ve had to improvise. My $10 portable speakers now accompany me as I drive so that I can hear my tunage. I keep it cranked at almost-full volume and it’s nowhere near as loud as I’d like it to be, but that’s okay.
Because I love simply being able to hear the soundtrack of my life.
Done.
four-minute friday: do me a favor
Go.
I’ve been contemplating my four-minute post for a few hours now and, with no clear topic in mind, I finally decided to just start typing.
Last night was my last intern class of the year. It was overwhelmingly incredible, to say the least. But I already blogged about that over on the Field Blog.
This afternoon I’m taking the interns for their last visit to Hope House. I know it’s going to be emotional; they’ve poured themselves into these kids for an entire year…
We leave Monday morning at the ungodly hour of 4:00 to drive to Cape Town for a week of debriefing. I’m looking forward to one last hurrah with them. And I can’t wait to see me some jackass penguins. (I’m serious! They exist! And they live in Africa!)
I talk often about the revolving door of my life in ministry — how I tire of the constant turnaround of people. I must confess: I’ve grown to dread this time of year. All the goodbyes and the need to reopen my heart to start over? Man oh man, it’s hard for me.
So will you do me a favor? Every time you drink a hot frothy beverage in one of those gloriously divine red to-go cups, remember me and say a quick prayer for my heart.
Done.
four-minute friday: pablo
Go.
Last week at Hope House (the orphanage we work at each Friday) the interns told the story of Paul’s conversion. Matt narrated and Shannon played a very dramatic Paul. (You’ve gotta overcompensate when you’re the wrong gender for the part…)
After explaining how God got Paul’s attention and asked him to “work for Him”, Matt asked the kids how they thought Paul responded.
One girl raised her hand. “He said, ‘Yes’.”
“That’s right,” Matt replied. “And what do you think God said next?”
There was a long pause. A little boy stood up to answer. “He said, ‘Thank you.’”
Classic.
Done.
three-minute thursday: hiatus
Go.
It’s 5:21 on Thursday morning. In less than 40 minutes we’ll be on our way to the Indian Ocean with two cars full of interns. Today’s agenda includes screaming down a water slide and giggling around a lazy river. (Did you know I absolutely love water parks?)
Tomorrow and Saturday I’ll be soaking up as much as I can at a leadership conference; I have a lot to learn!
Sunday I’ll be boarding a plane with my husband. Quite a few of them actually (planes, not husbands) as we fly from Durban to Johannesburg to Frankfurt to Rome to Palermo, Sicily.
I won’t be checking email for two-and-a-half weeks. I won’t be blogging either. The only new post you’ll see while I’m gone is one that’s scheduled for a specific day. You’ll understand when you see it.
Play nice!
Ciao!
Done.
four minute friday: hope
Go.
I’m off to Hope House in an hour. That’s the local orphanage I take our interns to each Friday afternoon. This is one of the things I missed most while I was in America.
I love watching the kids’ eyes light up as they learn something new. I love seeing them shoot their hands in the air, volunteering to help with the object lesson. I love the zeal with which they recite their memory verses.
But mostly I love sitting quietly with one or two of them, lavishing them with love and feeling my heart be strengthened.
I’ve been hearing stories of how much the kids have grown, and all the new things they’re capable of doing now. I’m looking forward to seeing a healthy Nkosi, a walking, talking, happy Katleho, an interactive Mbali. I’m looking forward to seeing our interns in action, doing what they do best.
I’m tired today and feel like I don’t have much to offer. But my arms aren’t too tired to hug and to hold; that much I can do. I can be a quiet refuge for a child who needs just that.
This is the perfect ending to my week.
Done.
four-minute friday: convalescing
Go.
I wore a bra for the first time in a week.
Let me back up a bit. This morning, I made myself get out of bed and not only shower, but also shave. (I swear, my body grows an ungodly amount of hair in seven days!) I put on makeup and my glasses (although my eyes were seeing just fine all week without ‘em), and did my hair. By “did my hair”, of course all I really mean is I pulled my bangs back in a clip and tousled the rest with my hands.
I put on real clothing (I’ve been rocking the PJ Queen look), slipped my feet into flip flops, grabbed my purse, and exited my bedroom. And then the house. (GASP!)
I had a follow-up appointment with the surgeon, and figured I’d do some errands while I was “out that way”.
Doctor’s office. Check.
UPS. Check.
CVS to get more drugs. Check. (Yesssssss!)
Pizzeria. Check.
Target. Check, check, check.
Sporting goods store. Check.
Outlet mall. Check.
Chinese restaurant for take-out. Check.
I arrived back at home in serious pain, just about unable to speak, and utterly exhausted. My butt is finally planted back on my bed, where I plan to remain for the rest of the night. Just as soon as I take my bra off and get back into pajamas.
Done.
