It Takes More Than a Tutu

There was a season in my life when I aspired to be a ballerina. Pointe shoes, tutus, graceful arms, and tour jetes got me hooked at a young age. I read books about ballet and took ballet classes. Nearly every year, yet another dazzling costume made of tulle, velvet and ribbon was added to my closet. The Nutcracker was a personal favorite, and I often listened to the soundtrack (even when it wasn't Christmas). Several of my friends liked ballet, too. Becoming a ballerina was my dream.

But there were set-backs--limitations. As I grew older, the realities were obvious, and hope began to fade. If I were to reach my lofty goal, it would require being consumed with ballet. For one thing, I would have to attend the the Royal Ballet School. (That's where they all go, right?)Classes would be six days a week. My diet would have to consist of yogurt, fruit and water. As I read about some of the world's greatest dancers, I was astonished at the dedication it would require. Most disappointing of all, however, was, compared to the rest of my amateur classmates, I was just as average as they were; or worse. It wasn't long before I gave up the idea altogether.

I long to be a sold-out, passionate servant for my Beloved Savior. But, doing so requires more than reading books about Him, listening to music about Him, or wearing "Christian t-shirts". It requires more than hanging out with Christian friends.

A dancer must commit her life to her passion. It's just how it works. You never become a great ballerina by just reading a book about one. You aren't a dancer just because you wear a tutu. No, you live it. Isn't it the same with Christians? Walking in the light requires our entire all. Many of us only read the books, wear the shirts, hang out with the friends, and sing the songs. It doesn't work. So we throw up our hands and say, "I give up!"

What are you going to do? "Well, it'd be a lot easier if I actually knew someone who lives like that!" I've said it before, too. But why do we say that? It's not people we're trying to live like, it's Christ. It's Him we're living for, no one else.

Use me then, my Savior, for whatever purpose, and in whatever way, You may require. Here is my poor heart, an empty vessel; fill it with Your grace. Here is my sinful and troubled soul; quicken it and refresh it with Your love. Take my heart for Your abode; my mouth to spread abroad the glory of Your name; my love and all my powers, for the advancement of Your believing people; and never suffer the steadfastness and confidence of my faith abate; so that at all times I may be enabled from the heart to say, "Jesus needs me, and I am His." -D. L. Moody

A Lesson from Sleep Deprivation

This morning I felt like a crazed insomniac. This is strange when you consider the fact that I'm still in the late stages of that good old teenagerdom right of passage known as "I Can Sleep for Ten Hours Straight and Still Groan when the Alarm Goes Off" syndrome (or ICSFTHSASGWTAGOS, for short.)

After staying up until one in the morning, (against my will, I might add,) with my wide-awake little brother, I awoke at 4:30 ready to run a marathon, and ended up on our deck overlooking the creaking, dark forest that is our backyard.

Between the fact that I didn't have contacts in my eyes and the fact that it was dark outside, it took me a minute to stumble my way over there, but somehow I managed, and I found myself deep in thought as I looked out over the great, blurry mass in front of me.

It was there in the calm night air, with the pine trees swaying in the cool breeze and my bare feet tingling with a desire to run, that I began to think about life. And, as I was thinking about life, Jesus whispered something in my ear that I knew I was going to share with you today.

Stumbling through the pitch black garage to find the door to our back porch had somehow reminded me of my life over the past few months, and that was what Jesus wanted me to know. Perhaps that was even why I woke up in the middle of the night.

You see, He's always shown me the way to go. Still, somehow I always seem to ignore His offered hand and try to do what He's called me to on my own. I forget that He's there for constant support, and end up confused and a little turned around, simply because I refuse to take His hand. He tells me to trust Him, and I always say, "But..."

Take the other day, for instance. One of my students, a burly man from Africa who is about to earn his doctorate from WMU, gave me a talk about college.

"I can tell you are intelligent," he said in his thick accent, "and I don't want you to waste that. Taking one year off from school is fine, but you need to go next year."

I almost went to look up a list of majors online.

Then I remembered that Jesus and I had done that very thing a year ago and couldn't find a single one that said, "Lauren Durham needs this to be successful." Still, I ended up confused, wondering if this incredibly sharp man knew more about God's desires for me than I did.

Or last night, for another example, I was telling someone my reasons for not going to college and how things had turned out so far, and I found myself apologizing, "I mean, I'm really glad that I've done it so far, but I just don't know what I'm supposed to do next..."

Now, leaning against the rail in the wee hours of the morning, I could practically see myself stumbling around on the path that God already knows every bump and bend of by heart. He tries to tell me to take His hand and let Him take me on this journey, but still I end up running along on my own, tripping on roots and getting scraped with brambles along the way. "You just don't understand!" I complain as He untangles my hair from a tree branch, "Everyone thinks I'm strange, and what if I never get a real job, and what if I end up playing the piano on a street corner in an alley next to my cardboard box in New York City, hoping someone will stuff a bologna sandwich in my tip jar so I can eat for the day?"

"No, you don't understand," He looks me right in the eye, "All the days ordained for you were written in My book before one of them came to be."

Is God a Hopeless Romantic, too?

Lindsey and I have always been hopeless romantics. We used to breathe in romance novels like oxygen and live on petits fours and tea. By the time I was six I had written about my first crush in my diary and planned out our love story. And every time I took a walk in my backyard I used to hope that I would run into a handsome stranger (which actually ended up happening!....sort of....)

Anyway, when I was in my early teens I really had no interest in God because He didn't satisfy my craving for romance at all. I had come to the conclusion that it was my duty to go to church, give Him some of my money, sing about Him once in awhile and read the Bible every day, but there was nothing between us.

At least, from my perspective.

It wasn't until I was fifteen that all of this radically changed. It's a very long story about how it all came about, but, basically, I found out that He was in love with me. And it wasn't just, "I love you because you give Me money," sort of love- I discovered, through a perfectly scripted series of events, that He was passionately, whole-heartedly, jealously in love with me.

So what does this look like in a practical, everyday application? I haven't exactly found out yet.

You see, the problem is, I know that He's in love with me...I just forget about it all of the time. But when I do remember? Life is like a fairytale. Sometimes He'll take me on dates, or show me something lovely in my backyard that I've never seen before, or introduce me to an extraordinary person, or make me feel special in some small, but very significant way. And after it happens, all He does is smile and say, "I love you." But that's more than enough.

So what do you need God to be today? Calling Him something specific, whether it be Father, Comforter, Lover, Brother, Friend or anything in-between, isn't putting Him in a box. Rather, it is accepting His ability to be all that we could ever need.

The other day I discovered the following poem in "The Journals of Jim Elliot," a book that I wrote about a few posts ago. It intrigued me that it was written by Jim himself, a man who must've had an understanding of the holy, passionate love that God has for us. And, for anyone who doesn't see this perspective as Biblical, following the poem is a perfect example of our King's love for us taken straight out of the Bible.

Or you can just read Song of Solomon.

"Kiss me, Heavenly Lover, in the morning.
Be Thou the first to sweeten
This whole day's speech with that warm, honeyed touch
Of Thy caress.
And tenderly, while yet each eye lies unawaked,
Come lightly and impart to them
For day's long hour a heavenly set
To see all things as through a lover's eyes,
By soft caresses from the lips of Him
Who lives in Paradise.
Kiss me, Christ of Beauty, here alone
The two of us, while dawn
Steals down the slopes and
Wakens day's bright eye to smile on me.
Let not its luring draw me from the sense
That I belong to the One
Whose first embrace full ravishes
Who has kissed the son."

"'Later, I was passing by again. I looked at you. I saw that you were old enough for love. So I got married to you and took good care of you. I covered your naked body. I took an oath and made a firm promise to you. I entered into a covenant with you. And you became Mine,' announces the Lord and King." Ezekiel 16:8 

Rest for Berthas Everywhere

"Is there somewhere around here I can sleep?" the hunched-over elderly lady muttered grumpily. On this particular evening, the retirement home wasn't very well-staffed, and I couldn't find anyone to help her.

I'll give you one guess who ended up walking around the building with this lady, trying to figure out what her name was and find her room so that she could go to sleep.

Bertha got angry with me for touching her on the shoulder, (thankfully she didn't realize it was me- she just said, "Who's touching me?!") and, finally, someone on staff came along and offered to take her to her room.

"She'll just leave again," the worker mumbled rather cynically.

I didn't realize this at the time, but Bertha never stops. She walks down the halls and pauses for a moment to mutter something nonsensical, such as, "Well, I don't know where my husband is!" before walking again. Apparently she doesn't stay in her room for long. Ever.

I pitied her today as I visited this facility again and watched her restless body stumbling down the hall. She paused for a moment while I finished "In the Garden."

"That was beautiful," she whispered.

Then she walked again.

Without any specific words coming to mind, I started to get the feeling that Jesus wanted to show me something through Bertha. As I finished playing for the evening, pictures of little old Lauren on her knees started flashing through my mind- "Sure, I'll trust you, Jesus!" "God, I surrender everything to you." "I will do anything for you, Jesus!" "Thank you for your peace, God! Don't let me forget it."

Sure, I've told Him over and over that I accept His peace. And I really do rest in it.

But for how long?

What good would it do to climb in bed at night and close your eyes only to climb right back out five minutes later?

What good does it do to rest in the love, healing power, joy, peace and provision of Jesus only to start worrying again after five minutes of accepting it? Because that's what I usually do.

"Blessed are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God. He is the Maker of heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them— He remains faithful forever." Psalm 146:5-6 

Now it's up to us.

Our Dwelling Place...

Abba God we meet you here

Humbled- on our knees

Just longing to know your face

That's how we come before you now.

Oh Lord we love you

And it's so hard to fathom that

Everlasting love

You have.

To know you and to seek you

That's why we come here now.

Despite All My Flaws?

It isn't very often that a girl my age gets the opportunity to explore deep inside the pysche of a dead twenty-five year-old man that she never met. But, then, that's the wonderful thing about books, isn't it?

Over a year ago I purchased a copy of "The Journals of Jim Elliot." When I was seven, I had written my very first paper about him after reading his biography. He was the first missionary that I ever learned about. Killed by the Auca Indianas in Ecuador in 1956, he was a valiant servant of Christ who gave his life attempting to teach the gospel to a group of people that no one had ever reached before. After he died, his wife, (and one of my favorite people in the universe,) Elisabeth, took over. She ended up converting the entire tribe to Christianity, making their story one of the most amazing that I've ever read.

Well, needless to say, I was thoroughly excited to read about Jim's personal thoughts and feelings, and I couldn't wait to hear what he had to say in his journals. I eagerly opened his diary as soon as I received it- only to close it again with wide eyes and a slightly scarred mind.

You see, Jim was a man. A sinful man just like the rest of us. A sinful man just like the rest of us who struggled with lust. A sinful man just like the rest of us who struggled with lust and copied all of his thoughts into his diary in rather graphic detail.

His thoughts weren't exactly fitting for a young woman to read.

Confused, I remember sitting in my room and thinking, "Well! Even with all the sinners in the world, I assumed that at least Jim Elliot, of all people, would be a good example of someone who lived a Christian lifestyle! Boy, was I wrong!" And his book went on my shelf next to all of his wife's books, collecting dust and remaining unread.

As I read back over Jim's journals the other night, I had a new perspective. A year later, I saw his thoughts in an entirely new light, and it gave me hope.

You see, Jim was an amazing man who did amazing things for God. The fact that he struggled with lust doesn't make what he did for Jesus any less amazing, though that was my first reaction. And while I don't necessarily have a problem with lust all of the time, I'm certainly just as full of flaws as he was. Sometimes the number of things that I have to ask for forgiveness for is overwhelming, and I find myself saying, "How in the world could you ever use me, God?"

We all have struggles, but we can't forget that God wants to use us despite our flaws. Don't wait until you are "perfect" to do things for Him, because that day won't come while we're on this earth. And if God can use Jim Elliot, a man who constantly struggled with his own set of flaws, to bring an entire tribe to Himself, transform an entire generation of Christians back in the fifties and still inspire people today, how much do you think that can He use you and I for His glory?