Abide. This word keeps coming to me over and over while on the Africa Mercy. Jesus says He is the vine, and I am a branch, and I need to abide in Him.
a-bide: (verb) To rest, remain, continue, stay.
It has much more to do with being than doing. Ahhh, now that strikes a deep chord in me, the do-er. Always gotta be productive. Strive, perform, do things for Jesus. It's much harder for me to just...be.
This morning I sat on a wooden adirondack chair, gazing out over the ocean, gentle warm wind ruffling my hair as a daddy would ruffle his beloved child's hair. I smiled. Papa God...is that You, ruffling my hair, letting me know You love it when I abide in You? When I stop, and rest, and just talk with You?
I resist being a branch. I don't want to just sit and wait for the Vine to push nutrients into me, to make me grow in His time, to be dormant when He wants, to bear much fruit in His season. I want to be an independent branch, doing what I want when I want. But every time I pull away from the Vine, I notice a depletion of energy.
I get thirsty. I get hungry. I need nourishment, and I go looking for it in all the wrong places. Then I crawl (do branches crawl?) back to the Vine, leaves curled and browning, begging to be grafted back in and given another chance. He never refuses me.
That's what I love about the Vine. He is always waiting to give, never cuts me off, knows what I need and when. I think I'll stay. Remain. Abide.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
one millimeter of me
Look up close at a large tapestry. It's made of millions of tiny threads woven together. The piece of each thread that you see on the front is--maybe--1mm wide. The part of that thread on the back is just long enough to tie a knot and hang loosely. I am a thread. You are a thread. The tapestry is life on earth from beginning to end. God is the weaver. He is making the tapestry right now, and it's not yet complete.
I was pondering my part in the tapestry. I don't want to be a brown thread which makes up the ugly dirt along the bottom. I don't want to be a white thread that makes up a bunch of unimportant clouds in the sky. I want to be a silver thread in that bolt of lightning. I want to be a red thread in that drop of blood. I want to be a gold thread in that crown. I want to be a flesh-colored thread on Jesus' body. I want to be a violet thread in that rainbow. I want to be noticed. I want to be an important part of the tapestry...the meat of it. Don't we all?
Am I alone in wanting to have purpose, wanting to be valued, wanting to be colorful? But I don't get to choose what color thread I will be. God chooses. I used to be in that pile of thread on the floor, not yet used in the tapestry. But I gave God permission to pick me up and use me, to thread me through His needle and weave me into His story. Perhaps He wants me to be the dirt or the cloud. I pray I can be that drab color joyfully and without complaining, just happy to be IN the tapestry.
I hope I don't focus on the chaotic back of the tapestry, where my knot and loose ends are not what He is creating. He leaves that messy part on the back, and wants the 1mm of me to shine forth in the beauty that only His hand can create.
It hurts as the needle pokes through the fabric of life and pulls me through. Rough edges, straining and struggling. He stops at just the right spot, right where He wants me. He ties my knot, and my part is done. I'm there forever, the work of His hands. Still, quiet, completed.
I've met and heard about some people who I think will be the threads of the most important part of the story---Jesus' body and blood. No, not famous people. The janitor who hums hymns all day while he works, and gives hugs and a listening ear to the schoolchildren and is so loved by them...he'll be there. The autistic or Downs syndrome child, so unvalued in today's society, but a blessing indeed to those who know them...they'll be there. The homeless person whose life story is so tragic, she struggles to stay sane, but thanks God for daily life and food. The single mom, abandoned by her unfaithful husband, who works 3 jobs to raise her kids in the nurture and admonition of the Lord...she'll be there. The prisoner who once killed for drugs, who has turned his life around and now mentors young men to follow Christ...he'll be there. It'll be the lonely, the rejected, the suffering, the poor, and the forgotten who will be given these threads of honor.
It'll be some of these precious Togolese, who sing praises to Him and clap for joy while living a life of severe poverty, broken limbs and disfigured faces. The Creator looks on them and smiles, for they have found life's true riches, and look forward to their forever home with Him.
I am a thread. I'm being pulled through. He hasn't tied my knot yet. God, help me to be pulled along willingly, without whining, thanking You for the color You chose for me. Thank You for picking me up off the floor and making me important simply because I'm part of Your great tapestry. Thank You for loving all 1mm of me. That's all I've ever wanted anyway, to have a place in Your story.
I was pondering my part in the tapestry. I don't want to be a brown thread which makes up the ugly dirt along the bottom. I don't want to be a white thread that makes up a bunch of unimportant clouds in the sky. I want to be a silver thread in that bolt of lightning. I want to be a red thread in that drop of blood. I want to be a gold thread in that crown. I want to be a flesh-colored thread on Jesus' body. I want to be a violet thread in that rainbow. I want to be noticed. I want to be an important part of the tapestry...the meat of it. Don't we all?
Am I alone in wanting to have purpose, wanting to be valued, wanting to be colorful? But I don't get to choose what color thread I will be. God chooses. I used to be in that pile of thread on the floor, not yet used in the tapestry. But I gave God permission to pick me up and use me, to thread me through His needle and weave me into His story. Perhaps He wants me to be the dirt or the cloud. I pray I can be that drab color joyfully and without complaining, just happy to be IN the tapestry.
I hope I don't focus on the chaotic back of the tapestry, where my knot and loose ends are not what He is creating. He leaves that messy part on the back, and wants the 1mm of me to shine forth in the beauty that only His hand can create.
It hurts as the needle pokes through the fabric of life and pulls me through. Rough edges, straining and struggling. He stops at just the right spot, right where He wants me. He ties my knot, and my part is done. I'm there forever, the work of His hands. Still, quiet, completed.
I've met and heard about some people who I think will be the threads of the most important part of the story---Jesus' body and blood. No, not famous people. The janitor who hums hymns all day while he works, and gives hugs and a listening ear to the schoolchildren and is so loved by them...he'll be there. The autistic or Downs syndrome child, so unvalued in today's society, but a blessing indeed to those who know them...they'll be there. The homeless person whose life story is so tragic, she struggles to stay sane, but thanks God for daily life and food. The single mom, abandoned by her unfaithful husband, who works 3 jobs to raise her kids in the nurture and admonition of the Lord...she'll be there. The prisoner who once killed for drugs, who has turned his life around and now mentors young men to follow Christ...he'll be there. It'll be the lonely, the rejected, the suffering, the poor, and the forgotten who will be given these threads of honor.
It'll be some of these precious Togolese, who sing praises to Him and clap for joy while living a life of severe poverty, broken limbs and disfigured faces. The Creator looks on them and smiles, for they have found life's true riches, and look forward to their forever home with Him.
I am a thread. I'm being pulled through. He hasn't tied my knot yet. God, help me to be pulled along willingly, without whining, thanking You for the color You chose for me. Thank You for picking me up off the floor and making me important simply because I'm part of Your great tapestry. Thank You for loving all 1mm of me. That's all I've ever wanted anyway, to have a place in Your story.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Jesus loves me...yeah, so?
Valentine's Day is upon us, that holiday that drips love, hearts, and chocolate. So what is it about love, anyway, that gives us the highest emotional highs (and the lowest lows), makes us spend a fortune on someone, creates culture's best songs and literature, and often determines whether or not we have a good life?
I've been pondering this. There is an author of love. He created it, and He demonstrated it by paying the highest price possible.
OK, so we've all heard the child's song...Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so....so what? We say "yeah, yeah" and go on with life. What difference does it make? An eternal one. One we can't ignore.
I've followed Jesus for 29 years now, yet I still can't grasp the complexity and simplicity of: Jesus...loves...me.
Why Jesus and not some other god? No other god ever told me he loved me...not Buddha, or Allah, or Mother Nature, etc. No other god took the punishment for my sin... even before I knew him. I didn't ask Jesus to do this for me. But He's the only one who can love me, because He is God, and is the author of love. The quality of loving isn't in other gods.
Why does He love me? He should hate me, because my sin put him through all that unjust torture. He should lose his patience with me because I mess up every day. He should write me off because I learn his lessons too slowly. Even if I hate Him, he loves me. Who does that? Even if I don't want Him to love me, He will, because to not love me is to not be who He is.
Why does He love me? Now that's a big mystery. I have no idea. I didn't deserve it, I can't earn it, I don't live up to it. If I talked to Tom as little as I talk to Jesus on some days, our relationship would be in trouble. But the fact that He does love ME, in spite of all that, makes me feel so valued. He calls me His daughter! How can I NOT love Him back?
Until the day I die, I will try to fathom the depths of such love, and try to love Him back as best I can. And then, I'll meet Him face to face. Oh, to see the FACE of the author of love! There are no words to express that. Imagine....
Friday, February 3, 2012
Off to "the dump" I will go...
When I mention to others that I'm going to Togo, Africa, I get a spectrum of reactions. From excited "Ohhhh, can I go with you???" comments to a curious "Oh" to quizzical looks that suggest pity. But one stands out more than all others: "Why would you want to go to THAT DUMP?" This person thought my time and money would be better spent seeing some beautiful parts of Africa, or going on a safari. I would love to do that, no doubt about it. But as I get older and ponder things like the brevity of life, why I'm here, and how I can love Jesus and others more and better, I feel compelled to go to places like the "dump" of Togo.
I know what I'll find there. I'll find beautiful faces with broken bodies who long to see because of blinding cataracts, who long to walk again because of contorted legs, who long to be restored to their communities because of huge tumors that make them the laughingstock of their villages. I'll see precious babies who can't eat because of cleft lip and/or palate...a simple fix by American standards. These people are human like you and me...they have souls, hopes, dreams, families. They long to be loved, respected, cared for, valued. They are not to be thrown onto a trash heap and forgotten. What if you or I had been born THERE and not in privileged America? Would we be less of a person?
Lord, send me to the "dump", where I can be Your hands and feet to those You haven't forgotten, those whom You tenderly love, those whose poverty breaks Your heart. If I ever think I'm better than them, break me. Destroy my foolish pride. Show me the treasures You see in places that some consider a dump.
"Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust don't destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
"What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while then vanishes."
"Whatever you do for the least of these brothers of mine, you do for me."
I know what I'll find there. I'll find beautiful faces with broken bodies who long to see because of blinding cataracts, who long to walk again because of contorted legs, who long to be restored to their communities because of huge tumors that make them the laughingstock of their villages. I'll see precious babies who can't eat because of cleft lip and/or palate...a simple fix by American standards. These people are human like you and me...they have souls, hopes, dreams, families. They long to be loved, respected, cared for, valued. They are not to be thrown onto a trash heap and forgotten. What if you or I had been born THERE and not in privileged America? Would we be less of a person?
Lord, send me to the "dump", where I can be Your hands and feet to those You haven't forgotten, those whom You tenderly love, those whose poverty breaks Your heart. If I ever think I'm better than them, break me. Destroy my foolish pride. Show me the treasures You see in places that some consider a dump.
"Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust don't destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
"What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while then vanishes."
"Whatever you do for the least of these brothers of mine, you do for me."
Sunday, January 15, 2012
To go or not to go...
It all started last summer. Well, actually, the summer before. Well, when I really think about it, it started over 20 years ago, when I first heard of Mercy Ships. I was immediately enthralled with their work: providing medical care to the poor and forgotten in Africa. I thought to myself, "If I ever become a nurse, THAT is what I want to do!" Since then, I've kept tabs on their ministry, always hoping, someday...
Fast forward 20+ years. In the summer of 2010, while recovering both from a fractured ankle and a broken heart after spending 3 months in post-earthquake Haiti, I read a book titled The Hole in Our Gospel. It reached into the depths of my aching heart and gave it a purpose. To go. To do. Something, anything to help this hurting world. To go, but how/when/where? That's when it dawned on me; it was time to apply to Mercy Ships, and see if God would open the door.
I was accepted, but was unable to serve in the time slot they wanted me due to my still-recovering ankle.
Then, in summer 2011, I began dreaming again about Mercy Ships. But I wanted to make sure that it was what God wanted me to do. So I decided that I would not contact them, and that I would leave it in God's hands. THREE DAYS later, I received an email from Mercy Ships, asking if I could serve sometime in the first half of 2012. Where? Togo, Africa. Ohhh, I just love how our God works. He not only let me know that He indeed wanted me to go, but also, to go to Togo. God has a great sense of humor.
Nancy: Lord, I want to go!
God: OK.
Nancy: Where, Lord?
God: Togo.
Nancy: Yes, that's what I said, I want TO GO.
God: Yes, that's what I said, TOGO.
Nancy: Huh? Sometimes I don't understand You, Lord.
God: You will soon. The email's coming.
And so, on March 11, I gotta go...to Togo :)
Fast forward 20+ years. In the summer of 2010, while recovering both from a fractured ankle and a broken heart after spending 3 months in post-earthquake Haiti, I read a book titled The Hole in Our Gospel. It reached into the depths of my aching heart and gave it a purpose. To go. To do. Something, anything to help this hurting world. To go, but how/when/where? That's when it dawned on me; it was time to apply to Mercy Ships, and see if God would open the door.
I was accepted, but was unable to serve in the time slot they wanted me due to my still-recovering ankle.
Then, in summer 2011, I began dreaming again about Mercy Ships. But I wanted to make sure that it was what God wanted me to do. So I decided that I would not contact them, and that I would leave it in God's hands. THREE DAYS later, I received an email from Mercy Ships, asking if I could serve sometime in the first half of 2012. Where? Togo, Africa. Ohhh, I just love how our God works. He not only let me know that He indeed wanted me to go, but also, to go to Togo. God has a great sense of humor.
Nancy: Lord, I want to go!
God: OK.
Nancy: Where, Lord?
God: Togo.
Nancy: Yes, that's what I said, I want TO GO.
God: Yes, that's what I said, TOGO.
Nancy: Huh? Sometimes I don't understand You, Lord.
God: You will soon. The email's coming.
And so, on March 11, I gotta go...to Togo :)
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