Perspective

Sorry about the long time between blogs. As a general rule, if I am quiet I am either not doing well and don’t want to admit it, or life is going too well and I don’t have time to reflect upon it. In this case it has been both.

I have spent the last week trying to think like Satan, doubting if I was supposed to do campus ministry, weeping on a floor, feeling more excited than I ever have about campus ministry and contemplating the power of prayer. Confused? Welcome to my world. Humorously, I remember whispering a prayer about wanting a life worth writing about. God has a sense of humor. Look at the platypus (if you have seen Dogma you are rolling right now).

Okay, so the Satan part. At a meeting that gathered all of the InterVarsity staff from the Inland Northwest I was asked to take part in a dramatization about that little voice in our heads. I was asked to be that voice. My instructions were pretty simple, re-tell the lies I believe about myself. So with a dear friend of mine bound to a chair, blindfolded and his lips duct-taped, I proceeded to tell him that he was not cut out for campus ministry. That he wasn’t making a difference. That he wasn’t doing enough. That it was time for him to get a real job. Even while writing this I am feeling sick to my stomach.

After my friend was untied, and we all told him that he was actually a great guy, we reflected on what happened. Actually to be honest everyone else reflected, I wallowed. How could I say those things? How could I be so cruel? Then came the kicker…weren’t those things true of me? I finally choked out how I was feeling to my friends and for the first of three times, they told me that wasn’t true and that I was where I belonged. I remained unconvinced.

Later that night I spent some time talking and praying with some men from that group. Once again I was told that I belonged. Then we prayed. In prayer they again affirmed that I belonged. This was the second time that I was told that the little voice was lying. Yet still I remained unconvinced.

The next morning we all reconvened, after a good night sleep I felt better, more in control of myself. I was convinced that I was going to make it without needed a whole room of people to look after me.

And then we prayed.

The prayer sounded familiar. I was told I was called here. That I was called to staff. All things that I could control. All things that I could handle. I nodded my head, I whispered “Yes, Jesus”. Then came the word and the power. The word “peace” was uttered. Peace. Peace. Peace. It rang in my head. I felt weak. The next thing I knew I was on the ground. I was crying. Weeping actually, if that is what it is called when your chest feels like it is going to explode.

Peace.

Peace from the insecurities.

Peace from the doubts.

For the third time I was told that I belonged.

I finally was convinced.

Prayer is something I don’t understand. I can do it seemingly a hundred times without really feeling much. Don’t get me wrong, it can seem important and even true. Yet my mind will wander. At times I will even wonder if I am being listened to. Then all of a sudden I am crying on the floor. Who is this God I serve? Doesn’t he realize that He is supposed to stay on the page so that I can study Him in a rational manner? Of course He doesn’t. He is too busy living and changing me.

I have been thinking about evil a lot lately, writing about it as well. I still am woefully short on answers. I know this though, Satan wants me sitting and thinking I am worthless; Jesus wants me up and alive. Satan wants to remind me of all of my failures; Jesus wants me to get back into the game. I am sick of reflecting on all that I have done wrong. I am sick of letting my past and my fears define my future. My future belongs to the one who knocked me on my butt. I am going to jump ahead to Easter Sunday and proclaim that “Jesus is Alive”!

More shocking though… so am I.

Another Note

I received an email today from a friend who I have not heard from in over three years. She informed me that she has cancer and has been given about one year to live.

I still am struggling for words to express what I am thinking about this news.

What was even more odd was her optimism. Not optimism about a cure or a miraculous healing, her optimism about the life that she has had. Her optimism about her belief that this has brought her closer to Jesus and made her more faithful for each day that she has been given.

I will continue to pray for a miraculous healing, and continue to be amazed about the miracle of hope that has already occurred.