I’ve had a lot of weird dreams lately (which, if you know me at all, is nothing new). In the last few days I’ve dreamed that I wasn’t really a Wingfield, but an illegitimate child, that Relient K called me up on stage during a concert because they wanted to know more about Egypt, and that a creepy milk lady had a crush on my little brother.(?)Then last night I had a dream that I was given the assignment of writing a five page essay on one character trait of God. Someone picked faithfulness, someone else picked love, and someone even picked wrath. I kept trying to pick “hope”, but my professor said that it wasn’t a character trait. So then I tried to pick “hope-giver”, but he didn’t like that either. I don’t know what happened in the end because I must’ve woken up, but I like that I wanted to write about God being a hope-giver.
I don’t want to be a critic…but I want to think critically. I’ve been wondering lately if there’s a difference and I think hope may be one of the things that separates a critical thinker from a critic. I think this because any time I feel overwhelmed with the negative, I remember how good and faithful God is, and that one day He will make all things right. There is hope for restoration. It’s not simple optimism, but a realization that the world is groaning and waiting for the day when things will be made right. But even now, God is with us. I believe he can bring peace in pain and beauty from tragedy. He brings hope.
“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.” Romans 8:18-21
Monday, June 28, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
A Common Enemy
So I’m watching the show Intervention tonight and a relative of the featured drug addict says to another relative, “You know, this is the first time we’ve ever been united in something.” They were united against drug addiction.
I was talking to a girl at Bethlehem University last semester and asked, “What’s the ratio of Christian students to Muslim students here?” The girl quickly answered that they didn’t label one another “Christian” or “Muslim”; they were all just “Palestinian”. They were united against occupation.
We all remember 9-11. For however long it lasted, the people of our country united against terrorism.
I find it interesting that what unites people is a common enemy. Whether that enemy is Hitler or an opposing sports team, it seems as if the only thing that can unite enemies is an even bigger enemy. In fact, I remember asking myself last semester what could possibly unite Palestinians and Israelis. My friend Toni and I concluded that peace between them would be possible if aliens from another planet came to destroy all of human kind and the only way we could survive was if we all worked together against them.
I read a great book by Brother Andrew a couple years ago in which he records his conversations with prominent leaders of both Hamas and Hezbollah. To many Christians in America (and to me at the time), the fact that he even talked to them sounded shocking. Aren’t they dangerous? Aren’t they the enemy? The conversations shook me with the realization that these men were…men. They had beliefs and convictions, families and things in the world that they cared about. They were different…and yet strangely similar. It’s uncomfortable to have enemies with whom you can relate. Maybe that’s why we so easily dehumanize our “enemies”. Brother Andrew then reminded his readers of Paul’s words in Ephesians. “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”
I can remember playing the card game “Phase 10” with my mom and brother many years ago. Somehow a rivalry broke out between my brother and I where I would skip him every chance I had and he would skip me every chance he had. We were so concentrated on beating each other that we missed the fact that we were both losing to our mom. She won.
Do you think that’s what we’re doing? Losing to a forgotten enemy? So I’m just pondering to myself…what if we were to all unite against the one, true enemy in existence?
I was talking to a girl at Bethlehem University last semester and asked, “What’s the ratio of Christian students to Muslim students here?” The girl quickly answered that they didn’t label one another “Christian” or “Muslim”; they were all just “Palestinian”. They were united against occupation.
We all remember 9-11. For however long it lasted, the people of our country united against terrorism.
I find it interesting that what unites people is a common enemy. Whether that enemy is Hitler or an opposing sports team, it seems as if the only thing that can unite enemies is an even bigger enemy. In fact, I remember asking myself last semester what could possibly unite Palestinians and Israelis. My friend Toni and I concluded that peace between them would be possible if aliens from another planet came to destroy all of human kind and the only way we could survive was if we all worked together against them.
I read a great book by Brother Andrew a couple years ago in which he records his conversations with prominent leaders of both Hamas and Hezbollah. To many Christians in America (and to me at the time), the fact that he even talked to them sounded shocking. Aren’t they dangerous? Aren’t they the enemy? The conversations shook me with the realization that these men were…men. They had beliefs and convictions, families and things in the world that they cared about. They were different…and yet strangely similar. It’s uncomfortable to have enemies with whom you can relate. Maybe that’s why we so easily dehumanize our “enemies”. Brother Andrew then reminded his readers of Paul’s words in Ephesians. “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”
I can remember playing the card game “Phase 10” with my mom and brother many years ago. Somehow a rivalry broke out between my brother and I where I would skip him every chance I had and he would skip me every chance he had. We were so concentrated on beating each other that we missed the fact that we were both losing to our mom. She won.
Do you think that’s what we’re doing? Losing to a forgotten enemy? So I’m just pondering to myself…what if we were to all unite against the one, true enemy in existence?
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Live Successfully
My preacher asked the question this morning, “How do you measure a life?” (I apologize now for the RENT song I just made pop into your head…). I’m glad he brought up that question, because it’s one that my MESP friends and I seemed to discuss often. What makes a life “successful”?
I may have had a slight mental breakdown last week after realizing that the majority of my friends are at this time either looking into graduate schools or getting married. Me? I have no clue what I’m even doing tomorrow, let alone after I graduate next May. I have no plan (except my plan to not work at Old Navy for the rest of my life). I have many options in front of me, and while I understand how blessed I am to have these options, I’m overwhelmed by the idea that I have to make a decision in less than a year that could determine the rest of my life.
My friend Sharon is going to law school to be a social-justice lawyer. She’s one of those people I get excited about seeing five, ten, twenty years from now. She’s going to make a difference in this world. My friend Sarah is going to be a physical therapist—and an awesome one at that. She loves people and heals not only with her coveted massages but with her kind and encouraging spirit. She too is going to make a difference in the world.
I am not going to law school, and I’m not going to be a physical therapist. And while I mentioned that I don’t want to work in retail for the rest of my life, I wonder if my life would still be “successful” if I did nothing but fold clothes every day.
There's a picture frame I saw at Wal-mart that reads, “Life isn’t measured by the number of breaths you take, but by the number of moments that take your breath away.” My preacher made a new statement today. “Life isn’t measured by the number of breaths you take or even the number of moments that take your breath away, but by the number of breaths you breathe into the lives of others.”
I can remember a day in 8th grade when one of our guidance counselors came to class and gave us a lecture on “'The Haves’ versus ‘The Have Nots’”. He told us we needed to continue our education because our success one day would depend on how much money we made—money that could only come from a good job that would only come from making good grades. We were going to grow up and find ourselves in one of those two categories. We could “have” and be able to buy a new car every few years, or we would be a “have not” and have to drive the same car for up to ten years. This is what measured your success.
We all know that when you die, you die. And that it won’t really matter how much money you made or how well-known your name was or how pretty your house looked. Some might call that success, but in the scheme of eternity, I don’t believe those things matter to God. You may be a person like Sharon who plans on making “macro-level” differences in the world, taking on injustices and fighting the bullies of the world. You may be more like Sarah who will make an impact one person at a time as a physical therapist. I don’t think it’s their occupation that will make them successful, but the heart that they have fueling them—the heart of God.
No, I don’t know what I’ll be doing a year from now. But if I do have an example to follow:
“Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
but made himself nothing,
taking the very nature a servant,
being made in human likeness.” –Philippians 2:5-8
I also have a promise:
“he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” –Philippians 1:6
Even if for now it’s just by providing customer service at a clothing store, I want to bless people. Then maybe one day, no matter where I end up or what I end up doing, I can say I lived a successful life.
I may have had a slight mental breakdown last week after realizing that the majority of my friends are at this time either looking into graduate schools or getting married. Me? I have no clue what I’m even doing tomorrow, let alone after I graduate next May. I have no plan (except my plan to not work at Old Navy for the rest of my life). I have many options in front of me, and while I understand how blessed I am to have these options, I’m overwhelmed by the idea that I have to make a decision in less than a year that could determine the rest of my life.
My friend Sharon is going to law school to be a social-justice lawyer. She’s one of those people I get excited about seeing five, ten, twenty years from now. She’s going to make a difference in this world. My friend Sarah is going to be a physical therapist—and an awesome one at that. She loves people and heals not only with her coveted massages but with her kind and encouraging spirit. She too is going to make a difference in the world.
I am not going to law school, and I’m not going to be a physical therapist. And while I mentioned that I don’t want to work in retail for the rest of my life, I wonder if my life would still be “successful” if I did nothing but fold clothes every day.
There's a picture frame I saw at Wal-mart that reads, “Life isn’t measured by the number of breaths you take, but by the number of moments that take your breath away.” My preacher made a new statement today. “Life isn’t measured by the number of breaths you take or even the number of moments that take your breath away, but by the number of breaths you breathe into the lives of others.”
I can remember a day in 8th grade when one of our guidance counselors came to class and gave us a lecture on “'The Haves’ versus ‘The Have Nots’”. He told us we needed to continue our education because our success one day would depend on how much money we made—money that could only come from a good job that would only come from making good grades. We were going to grow up and find ourselves in one of those two categories. We could “have” and be able to buy a new car every few years, or we would be a “have not” and have to drive the same car for up to ten years. This is what measured your success.
We all know that when you die, you die. And that it won’t really matter how much money you made or how well-known your name was or how pretty your house looked. Some might call that success, but in the scheme of eternity, I don’t believe those things matter to God. You may be a person like Sharon who plans on making “macro-level” differences in the world, taking on injustices and fighting the bullies of the world. You may be more like Sarah who will make an impact one person at a time as a physical therapist. I don’t think it’s their occupation that will make them successful, but the heart that they have fueling them—the heart of God.
No, I don’t know what I’ll be doing a year from now. But if I do have an example to follow:
“Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
but made himself nothing,
taking the very nature a servant,
being made in human likeness.” –Philippians 2:5-8
I also have a promise:
“he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” –Philippians 1:6
Even if for now it’s just by providing customer service at a clothing store, I want to bless people. Then maybe one day, no matter where I end up or what I end up doing, I can say I lived a successful life.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Afraid of Fear
Someone once asked me what I was afraid of and I answered, “I’m afraid of being afraid.” They laughed at me and claimed my answer was illegitimate, but it’s an honest answer. I might have left out some things (like large spiders), but in reality I am literally afraid of being afraid. I used to have (and still do have at times) really bad stage fright. The weird thing is, I wasn’t afraid of being on the stage or even of making mistakes, but of becoming too afraid to perform well. I knew that if I were to get nervous, then I would get shaky and sing like a sheep. I would get so nervous about becoming nervous that I would indeed shake. It sounds like I’m talking in circles, but the point I’m trying to make is that fear is something I don’t like to experience.
So maybe the fact that I have the very word “fear” in my blog seems odd. Why does Paul say that we should work out salvation with fear and trembling? Neither one sounds very appealing. But the process of working out one’s salvation—a process of trying on a daily basis to understand more of God and how to follow Him, is scary because it’s a journey with a lot of mystery. It includes questions that are too often answered with more questions. But I don’t want to be too afraid to embark on that journey because I think the fear experienced during it will only lead me to depend more on God, who is eager to spill blessings of grace and peace on his daring children. In an ironic way, I’m overcoming fear by letting myself be afraid.
So maybe the fact that I have the very word “fear” in my blog seems odd. Why does Paul say that we should work out salvation with fear and trembling? Neither one sounds very appealing. But the process of working out one’s salvation—a process of trying on a daily basis to understand more of God and how to follow Him, is scary because it’s a journey with a lot of mystery. It includes questions that are too often answered with more questions. But I don’t want to be too afraid to embark on that journey because I think the fear experienced during it will only lead me to depend more on God, who is eager to spill blessings of grace and peace on his daring children. In an ironic way, I’m overcoming fear by letting myself be afraid.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Heaven to Earth
Rob Bell writes in his book Velvet Elvis, “If the gospel isn’t good news for everybody, then it isn’t good news for anybody.” Despite the automatic critique I want to give that statement, it convicts me. The gospel is good news. It convicts me because I think of all the times we’ve made the gospel bad news. Not only that, but it convicts me to ask if I’ve made the gospel good news for the people around me simply through the way I live life. This also leads me to ask the seemingly simply question of…What is the gospel? And it’s here where my thoughts go everywhere.
The first thought I have is a question that was posed last semester by Rev. Paul Gordan-Chandlier. I don’t remember the direct quote, but the way I translated it in my head was, “Do you worship the Christ of the gospels or the Christ of the West?” Do I follow the gospel of the Bible of the gospel of the West? I suppose I opened my eyes then to how closely associated the words “Christian” and “America” are in Islamic culture. This is confusing to me because Christianity started, after all, in the Middle East. Jesus was a part of Middle-Eastern culture. So why does the gospel appear to be so foreign there? Have we made it into something it’s not?
Another thought/question I have pertains to the purpose of the gospel. I grew up in Sunday School and I attend a Bible College. This means I can tell you about the “Roman Road.” But what I question is whether or not the primary purpose was to get us to heaven…or to get heaven to us. Both? My pastor is currently preaching a series called “Heaven to Earth.” I like it. Growing up I always heard that the gospel is what gets you into heaven. True. But that was all we focused on. I think Jesus came to earth for something more than to just secure us with eternal life. He brought…life. Period. “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” If heaven in a future tense was all that mattered, why would Jesus spend so much time healing the sick and loving the unloved? Maybe the gospel is not just to take away the fear of dying, but to take away the fear of living.
The gospel is good news for the whole world. It should be good news because it should bring heaven to the hells of earth.
The first thought I have is a question that was posed last semester by Rev. Paul Gordan-Chandlier. I don’t remember the direct quote, but the way I translated it in my head was, “Do you worship the Christ of the gospels or the Christ of the West?” Do I follow the gospel of the Bible of the gospel of the West? I suppose I opened my eyes then to how closely associated the words “Christian” and “America” are in Islamic culture. This is confusing to me because Christianity started, after all, in the Middle East. Jesus was a part of Middle-Eastern culture. So why does the gospel appear to be so foreign there? Have we made it into something it’s not?
Another thought/question I have pertains to the purpose of the gospel. I grew up in Sunday School and I attend a Bible College. This means I can tell you about the “Roman Road.” But what I question is whether or not the primary purpose was to get us to heaven…or to get heaven to us. Both? My pastor is currently preaching a series called “Heaven to Earth.” I like it. Growing up I always heard that the gospel is what gets you into heaven. True. But that was all we focused on. I think Jesus came to earth for something more than to just secure us with eternal life. He brought…life. Period. “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” If heaven in a future tense was all that mattered, why would Jesus spend so much time healing the sick and loving the unloved? Maybe the gospel is not just to take away the fear of dying, but to take away the fear of living.
The gospel is good news for the whole world. It should be good news because it should bring heaven to the hells of earth.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
One Thing I Do Know
I was reading in the gospel of John the other night about a blind man who is healed by Jesus on the Sabbath. Instead of a worship session, a debate soon breaks out among the people. "Some of the Pharisees said, 'This man is not from God, for he does not keep the Sabbath.' But others said, 'How can a sinner do such miraculous signs?' So they were divided"(9:16). The Pharisees interview the man, then his parents, and then the man again who gets frustrated with the debate and says, "Whether he is a sinner or not, I don't know. One thing I do know, I was blind but now I see."
The whole dialogue between the Pharisees and the blind man strikes a chord with me. I like him. He's honest. He speaks what he knows is true without fear, and I feel myself wanting to be more like him. There are always debates going on about what is good and what is wrong, what is politically acceptable and what isn't, what is true and what is a lie. And sometimes I just get frustrated with it all and want to shout with exasperation, "I don't know! And quite frankly I don't care about this argument. All I know is that something in my heart clings to Jesus Christ with the knowledge that he has given me life." The blind man understood his limited knowledge, but he had a personal testimony about a man who one day showed up and opened his eyes. I don't know much either. All I can honestly speak about are my own experiences.
I was in Jerusalem during Holy Week this year, and I thought I might add some excerpts from my journal from Good Friday and Easter Sunday. "As made evident to me by the Holocaust Museum and ironically by the mob on the Via Dolorosa today (that reminded me how easily a mob could've killed Jesus), human beings are capable of great evil. And yet, Jesus died for them. Jesus wept for them. He wept and carried a cross for his murderers, for the Jews, for the Gentiles, for me. And while I was squished inside the church today I thought to myself, 'Am I crazy? How does it make sense? Isn't it crazy to think I am going to heaven because a man 2000 years ago faced a violent, bloody crucifixion? It's absurd. And yet somehow I can't let it go. Surely Christ was no ordinary man. Somehow his death means my life. ...Jesus' death is historical. It can't really be denied. The belief that Jesus is no longer in a tomb, however, is what makes all the difference. The fact is, it's quite possible that I'm crazy. Faith means that I could be wrong. Jesus could've been a man with radical teachings and a delusional mind. He could've been crucified and then raised only in the stories of his disciples who couldn't face the possibility of him being gone. Or he could've been the Son of God who took on the sins of the world in his death and then defeated death once and for all in his resurrection."
"One thing I do know, I was blind but now I see."
The whole dialogue between the Pharisees and the blind man strikes a chord with me. I like him. He's honest. He speaks what he knows is true without fear, and I feel myself wanting to be more like him. There are always debates going on about what is good and what is wrong, what is politically acceptable and what isn't, what is true and what is a lie. And sometimes I just get frustrated with it all and want to shout with exasperation, "I don't know! And quite frankly I don't care about this argument. All I know is that something in my heart clings to Jesus Christ with the knowledge that he has given me life." The blind man understood his limited knowledge, but he had a personal testimony about a man who one day showed up and opened his eyes. I don't know much either. All I can honestly speak about are my own experiences.
I was in Jerusalem during Holy Week this year, and I thought I might add some excerpts from my journal from Good Friday and Easter Sunday. "As made evident to me by the Holocaust Museum and ironically by the mob on the Via Dolorosa today (that reminded me how easily a mob could've killed Jesus), human beings are capable of great evil. And yet, Jesus died for them. Jesus wept for them. He wept and carried a cross for his murderers, for the Jews, for the Gentiles, for me. And while I was squished inside the church today I thought to myself, 'Am I crazy? How does it make sense? Isn't it crazy to think I am going to heaven because a man 2000 years ago faced a violent, bloody crucifixion? It's absurd. And yet somehow I can't let it go. Surely Christ was no ordinary man. Somehow his death means my life. ...Jesus' death is historical. It can't really be denied. The belief that Jesus is no longer in a tomb, however, is what makes all the difference. The fact is, it's quite possible that I'm crazy. Faith means that I could be wrong. Jesus could've been a man with radical teachings and a delusional mind. He could've been crucified and then raised only in the stories of his disciples who couldn't face the possibility of him being gone. Or he could've been the Son of God who took on the sins of the world in his death and then defeated death once and for all in his resurrection."
"One thing I do know, I was blind but now I see."
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Hello, God?
I was recently recommended a book that I was told gives "the Christian view" on many pressing issues in our society. I am sure the book has great things to say, and I'm willing to bet that I would agree with a lot of it. But something in my spirit had trouble with the terminology. "The Christian view."? Is there one "Christian" or "biblical" view/position on all of society's issues? How can we claim to know what that is? I believe that the Bible is the word (about the Word) of God and that it is alive. It's alive because it's a story that plays itself out in our own stories, constantly revealing new truths and constantly demanding to be wrestled with. Unfortunately, the fact of the matter is that the Bible can be and has been interpreted in many ways to fit many agendas, and I think it's dangerous to claim something as "THE biblical/Christian view". For example, I was working in the archives of JBC last year when I came across an article found in a popular Christian publication from the late 1800s. The article claimed a biblical/Christian view that was against women's rights to vote and women's rights to attend college. It equated women’s suffrage with communism and described higher education for females as “disgusting.” Had I been alive then and believed what I do today, would I have been considered "unChristian"? Unbiblical? This is why I find danger in claiming our interpreted views as divine truths. What do you think?
I was reading a book recently in which Toni Campole says, "...in one sense, all theologies are heresies." Why? Because they're all human, imperfect ideas of an incomprehensible, True God. And I believe that this True God is bigger than what we label "Christian." God made the world. And it was good. God does not exist in our doctrines and churches alone. Anywhere there is truth, there is God because God is Truth. As cliche as it is, "All truth is God's truth" and all truth is ours as children of God. I found a lot of truth in places I didn't expect to find it last semester. The Muslim culture for example isn’t “Christian”, but it is saturated with God and with many truths. Must we dismiss them all because they are “Islamic” and not “Christian”? My hope is to continue finding truths. And I believe that as long as my focus is on God and on following Jesus Christ, I will. If my focus is on our culturally-ingrained ideas, labels, and doctrines (which can be very good!) then I shrink God. And I miss the point.
C.S. Lewis said, "He Whom I bow to only knows to whom I bow when I attempt the ineffible Name, murmuring Thou..." In a way, I feel like I'm starting over with God. Have you ever been told about a person and without meeting them you make a lot of assumptions about who they are? Say for example that I introduce you to one of my friends named Sam. I've told you about Sam before, and you've heard certain stories about him so you meet with preconceived notions of who he is. Even after you meet him, you without realizing it fill in gaps and create an idea of who you believe him to be. You later realize that you were only meeting Sam in certain contexts and places, and that there was a lot more to Sam than you realized. Maybe what you knew of him was true, but you assumed a lot and therefore missed a lot. In a certain sense, I feel like I did this with God. To use another cliche, I often put God in a box without even knowing it. I want to go back to the beginning and meet God again without my preconceived and culturally-accepted ideas. I want him to speak for himself. Hello, God. My name is Danielle. But I guess you already knew that...
I was reading a book recently in which Toni Campole says, "...in one sense, all theologies are heresies." Why? Because they're all human, imperfect ideas of an incomprehensible, True God. And I believe that this True God is bigger than what we label "Christian." God made the world. And it was good. God does not exist in our doctrines and churches alone. Anywhere there is truth, there is God because God is Truth. As cliche as it is, "All truth is God's truth" and all truth is ours as children of God. I found a lot of truth in places I didn't expect to find it last semester. The Muslim culture for example isn’t “Christian”, but it is saturated with God and with many truths. Must we dismiss them all because they are “Islamic” and not “Christian”? My hope is to continue finding truths. And I believe that as long as my focus is on God and on following Jesus Christ, I will. If my focus is on our culturally-ingrained ideas, labels, and doctrines (which can be very good!) then I shrink God. And I miss the point.
C.S. Lewis said, "He Whom I bow to only knows to whom I bow when I attempt the ineffible Name, murmuring Thou..." In a way, I feel like I'm starting over with God. Have you ever been told about a person and without meeting them you make a lot of assumptions about who they are? Say for example that I introduce you to one of my friends named Sam. I've told you about Sam before, and you've heard certain stories about him so you meet with preconceived notions of who he is. Even after you meet him, you without realizing it fill in gaps and create an idea of who you believe him to be. You later realize that you were only meeting Sam in certain contexts and places, and that there was a lot more to Sam than you realized. Maybe what you knew of him was true, but you assumed a lot and therefore missed a lot. In a certain sense, I feel like I did this with God. To use another cliche, I often put God in a box without even knowing it. I want to go back to the beginning and meet God again without my preconceived and culturally-accepted ideas. I want him to speak for himself. Hello, God. My name is Danielle. But I guess you already knew that...
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Give Me Grace.
I woke up this morning with a strange, overwhelming urge to write. It’s a strange urge for me to have, simply because I’ve never had it before. I don’t often write, I believe because I’ve never been good at organization—especially when it comes to the plethora of thoughts running through my brain that seem impossible to pin down to paper. But I think I might possibly have reached a point where the surplus of thoughts can no longer remain in my brain and are instead being forced to find a way to overflow out before my head simply explodes. And so, the stampeding thoughts have woken me up with a desire to write, thus creating this blog.
If you’re wondering what the cause of my near-thought-explosion is, I cannot sum it up easily for you. But it started last January when I exited my safe world of Bible College and chose to study abroad in the Middle East where I experienced the most challenging, thought-provoking, best months of my life. And now it’s over. It’s over in the sense that I am home in America where it is assumed to be over. But in reality, the semester hasn’t ended for me. All the questions and ideas and memories flood my mind daily here, in a place surprisingly foreign. My surroundings of West Virginia didn’t change, but I have. And this is my attempt-my quest-to find out how.
As I mentioned before, organization of thoughts has never been a strength for me. It’s like a chef trying to describe the food that he makes. He can’t describe it in one sentence because all the foods are so different from one another. If he were to write a short and sweet summary of his cakes, pastries, sandwiches, soups, salads, etc. all together, it would contain only shallow adjectives that deny the specific uniqueness and depth with which he could describe each one. I too have decided that the only way I can process these thoughts is to take one idea at a time (even as overwhelming a task as that seems). It could be a long process. If you haven’t noticed, I have yet to begin one topic and I’ve already written three paragraphs. But it’s a quest I am going to take, and I invite you to join me on it because I would be appreciative and welcoming of any thoughts to add to the discussion. I can’t get too far on my own. Philippians 2:12 says to, “…work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” I am saved, yet I continue to work out my salvation, questioning and probing my faith on a journey to make it transparent and real. “Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ took hold of me.”
I feel like the most appropriate thought to begin with when starting such a blog is the idea of humility. If I didn’t understand humility before I left for Egypt, I sure came back with a much greater understanding of the concept. Humility was introduced to me upon my first full day in Cairo. All of sudden, I was completely out of my element. I was the foreigner in the store who didn’t know the language and couldn’t communicate what she wanted to buy; I was the girl who had never ridden in any type of public transportation before, even when the drivers spoke English. When I stayed with a lovely Muslim family for a week, I felt like a child in every way. I was being taught my alphabet and basic words. Every meal was prepared for me, and my hand was always held while crossing the street. I was dependent. I was the minority in my appearance, and for the first time—my faith. To the Muslim-dominated society, I as a Christian was backwards. Truth be told, had I been born in Egypt and not mid-west America, I more than likely would be a Muslim like my “sisters” that I lived with. Though I wanted to at first, I couldn’t deny that culture had played a large part in how I viewed the world, my faith, and God. So who was God really? How does my faith matter? And how can truth be separated out from culture? Those are questions that haunted me and demanded from me a foundation of humility—a willingness to admit that in reality, I know squat. As part of the MESP program, we were confronted with several issues and then presented with speakers on both sides. I quickly learned that reasonable people can reasonably disagree, making valid arguments on both sides. Ideas I used to find ridiculous are now sensible to me—even if I still disagree. I understand that experiences I have had lead me to believe certain things, and as everyone has different life experiences, everyone’s filter through which they see the world is different. Recognizing this, I understand the possibility that I’m wrong. There’s a possibility that everything I’ve ever been taught is wrong. But there’s also the possibility that most of it is true. And so with humility comes the recognition of my gigantic need for grace, grace, and more grace. God, give me grace.
If you’re wondering what the cause of my near-thought-explosion is, I cannot sum it up easily for you. But it started last January when I exited my safe world of Bible College and chose to study abroad in the Middle East where I experienced the most challenging, thought-provoking, best months of my life. And now it’s over. It’s over in the sense that I am home in America where it is assumed to be over. But in reality, the semester hasn’t ended for me. All the questions and ideas and memories flood my mind daily here, in a place surprisingly foreign. My surroundings of West Virginia didn’t change, but I have. And this is my attempt-my quest-to find out how.
As I mentioned before, organization of thoughts has never been a strength for me. It’s like a chef trying to describe the food that he makes. He can’t describe it in one sentence because all the foods are so different from one another. If he were to write a short and sweet summary of his cakes, pastries, sandwiches, soups, salads, etc. all together, it would contain only shallow adjectives that deny the specific uniqueness and depth with which he could describe each one. I too have decided that the only way I can process these thoughts is to take one idea at a time (even as overwhelming a task as that seems). It could be a long process. If you haven’t noticed, I have yet to begin one topic and I’ve already written three paragraphs. But it’s a quest I am going to take, and I invite you to join me on it because I would be appreciative and welcoming of any thoughts to add to the discussion. I can’t get too far on my own. Philippians 2:12 says to, “…work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” I am saved, yet I continue to work out my salvation, questioning and probing my faith on a journey to make it transparent and real. “Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ took hold of me.”
I feel like the most appropriate thought to begin with when starting such a blog is the idea of humility. If I didn’t understand humility before I left for Egypt, I sure came back with a much greater understanding of the concept. Humility was introduced to me upon my first full day in Cairo. All of sudden, I was completely out of my element. I was the foreigner in the store who didn’t know the language and couldn’t communicate what she wanted to buy; I was the girl who had never ridden in any type of public transportation before, even when the drivers spoke English. When I stayed with a lovely Muslim family for a week, I felt like a child in every way. I was being taught my alphabet and basic words. Every meal was prepared for me, and my hand was always held while crossing the street. I was dependent. I was the minority in my appearance, and for the first time—my faith. To the Muslim-dominated society, I as a Christian was backwards. Truth be told, had I been born in Egypt and not mid-west America, I more than likely would be a Muslim like my “sisters” that I lived with. Though I wanted to at first, I couldn’t deny that culture had played a large part in how I viewed the world, my faith, and God. So who was God really? How does my faith matter? And how can truth be separated out from culture? Those are questions that haunted me and demanded from me a foundation of humility—a willingness to admit that in reality, I know squat. As part of the MESP program, we were confronted with several issues and then presented with speakers on both sides. I quickly learned that reasonable people can reasonably disagree, making valid arguments on both sides. Ideas I used to find ridiculous are now sensible to me—even if I still disagree. I understand that experiences I have had lead me to believe certain things, and as everyone has different life experiences, everyone’s filter through which they see the world is different. Recognizing this, I understand the possibility that I’m wrong. There’s a possibility that everything I’ve ever been taught is wrong. But there’s also the possibility that most of it is true. And so with humility comes the recognition of my gigantic need for grace, grace, and more grace. God, give me grace.
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