May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live deep within your heart. Amen. May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom and peace. Amen. May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and to turn their pain into joy. Amen. May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done. Amen.
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Friday, January 20, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Warm Fuzzies
At the staff meeting today, we laughed. We laughed off the stress of Spring Vision Camp, we stared wide-eyed at the possibilities we are facing, we cast side glances of smiling eyes to each other, we let the joy and hope of transformed lives seep through our smiles.
In a week we will know where we are all going.
But for now, we enter the semester ahead stronger than before. Less flailing, more success was our intern motto, and I think it's held true. Sure, three-quarters of our team are still rookies, and Chief is learning her own lessons. But still, as we work together and as we watch our students, we know that this life is beautiful. Rich. Rewarding.
Some people don't like to talk about changes. I'm of the kind that does, because knowing what I will no longer have makes me relish each moment a little deeper. Like these staff meetings. Like the four years of friendship we have. Like the flops we've seen and the successes.
I felt the need to write but I didn't know what to write about, but I guess this topic is appropriate. Because when I look back at this, I'll remember that this morning, it became very, very real that next year our lives will all look very, very different. But that's okay. And even as we look at what's to come, we speak in encouragement and truth, out of knowing and loving each other.
Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life.
In a week we will know where we are all going.
But for now, we enter the semester ahead stronger than before. Less flailing, more success was our intern motto, and I think it's held true. Sure, three-quarters of our team are still rookies, and Chief is learning her own lessons. But still, as we work together and as we watch our students, we know that this life is beautiful. Rich. Rewarding.
Some people don't like to talk about changes. I'm of the kind that does, because knowing what I will no longer have makes me relish each moment a little deeper. Like these staff meetings. Like the four years of friendship we have. Like the flops we've seen and the successes.
I felt the need to write but I didn't know what to write about, but I guess this topic is appropriate. Because when I look back at this, I'll remember that this morning, it became very, very real that next year our lives will all look very, very different. But that's okay. And even as we look at what's to come, we speak in encouragement and truth, out of knowing and loving each other.
Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Little Children
It's January and in two months Connections will be over. I'm leading Mark 2 which I tell everyone is hands down my favorite track of Connections, as it has been foundational to my faith and following Jesus.
But tonight, this first night in small group, I feel a small sinking dread because I know one of the passages I'm going to deal with. The one about the children, the one about the millstone.
“If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them if a large millstone were hung around their neck and they were thrown into the sea."
Tonight I know who my "children" are, the ones I don't know how to love. The one who hasn't stopped complaining, and the other who I think is plain obnoxious. The ones I have avoided direct conversation with.
I want to argue--but Jesus, real children are kind and open and willing to learn and listen. But in reality real children are annoying, selfish, and pretty dang insecure.
The easy way to end this now is to say Jesus, I know I am a child too, and you have loved me so I want to love them. But what I'm really feeling is a bit of dread, to be honest. (I have forgotten that our God changes hearts and changes lives)
But tonight, this first night in small group, I feel a small sinking dread because I know one of the passages I'm going to deal with. The one about the children, the one about the millstone.
“If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them if a large millstone were hung around their neck and they were thrown into the sea."
Tonight I know who my "children" are, the ones I don't know how to love. The one who hasn't stopped complaining, and the other who I think is plain obnoxious. The ones I have avoided direct conversation with.
I want to argue--but Jesus, real children are kind and open and willing to learn and listen. But in reality real children are annoying, selfish, and pretty dang insecure.
The easy way to end this now is to say Jesus, I know I am a child too, and you have loved me so I want to love them. But what I'm really feeling is a bit of dread, to be honest. (I have forgotten that our God changes hearts and changes lives)