Follow the (Red) Light

I left the house this morning with the battery warning light on in my car. I stared at the glowing red symbol and thought, “you don’t matter.” It stared back and said, “you’ll be sorry,” as I struggled to pull my common sense back to my side of the argument. My battery light had been flickering on and off for days. I had my battery tested and its function was normal. I was on my way to Medford for a doctor’s appointment. It was 7am. I had my coffee, my tunes, and my paper-clipped bundle of coupons for Costco from my mom. I was ready to check off my Medford to-do list as fast as I could: get in, get done and get out.
As I was heading over the pass, listening intently to a comedy sketch by Jerry Seinfeld on my iPod, Jerry’s voice suddenly plummeted – it sounded like it was being sucked through a vortex – then silence. I thought my speakers went out… how annoying. The red battery light (Yes it was still on. I know. Idiot was slowly being etched across my forehead.) shone on unflinchingly, taunting me with its sarcasm: “It’s your speakers. Right.”
When my car did a few awkward lunges through road construction before Ashland, I decided to pull over, rolling my eyes that I was conceding to a battery light! I left my car running and made a few phone calls, trying to scrounge up a ride, but I only reached my cousin in Ashland who offered me her… bike? No thanks. My gearshift was locked and that little red light was still blaring, brighter than any red light should be allowed to blare. Then, somehow, the menacing light blinked off and my car shifted into gear! With caution I pulled out and drove on old Highway 99 to Medford. I made it to my appointment, a little late, and eventually to Central point to get my alternator fixed. Somehow I felt a little triumphant that the red light telling me the battery was dying wasn’t 100% accurate. Turns out the alternator was draining my car battery while it was running, but the battery itself is as healthy as a horse.
So besides being late for my doctor’s appointment and having to wait an hour and a half at an old fashioned burger place in Central Point - where I eavesdropped on two strangers debating politics through a cheap glass partition adorned with ghastly orange and yellow spiral shaped illustrations of citrus slices - I really was inconvenienced very little.
I headed to Costco to take advantage of the coupons and then headed home, pretty much stress free. There are three morals to this tale:
#1 – Things generally seem worse than they actually are.
#2 – Pay attention to your car’s warning lights.
#3 – It’s pretty stupid to have psychological arguments with inanimate objects. (They usually win.)

Love Weed, Love God

Weed.
It's an interesting topic for so many reasons. Oh, and I wasn't even counting the ones involving marijuana, (or cannibas if you're reading a police report, but who am I kidding? Who reads police reports besides journalists who then translate it back to marijuana so Joe sixth grader - who probably smokes dope - can understand? Those were two very pointless sentences, but I don't think I wanted to delete them.) so the reasons probably just at least tripled.
I bet you can't guess what my reason for writing about Weed is though. Well, besides the fact that I grew up here, love it here, hate it here, left here and now am back here. It's none of those. Today Weed, just the thought of this place, turned my mind toward the amazing love I experience from God all the time, even if it's not recognized by me. (Bet you didn't see that one coming.)
My mind has been storing and filing away tid bits of information about God's love lately, through different experiences, thoughts and encounters, but tonight as I drove home from the high school where I was working on my senior project and stressing about it, I suddenly observed the sad little town I was driving through. I don't think the drizzling rain really helped uplift my mood, either. That thought started a chain reaction in my mind, like dominoes or ripples or any other word picture you can think of. (And I'm pretty sure there are more.) I thought about how so many people I know here are depressed and down on their luck, or beating themselves up about things they've done or mistakes they've made. I thought about the gutter of the same depressing routine people get themselves into here. I thought how it's kind of adding insult to inury that on top of all their other problems, they live in Weed.
When your mind is on this type of track, Weed honestly doesn't have much to offer, except the new bar on Main Street. What a significant improvement to our little space of cohabitation. I'm sure Papa's Place and the bar in the bowling alley weren't enough for our expansive downtown street. The array of lit beer signs in the window really add something to the street at night.
Back to my chain reaction of thoughts, though. Thinking about other people's unfortunate situations naturally turned my mind to my own situation. I've felt kind of stressed out and hopeless lately, which I mark as things I most likely have in common with the unfortunates of my mind during this whole thought process.
Then, it was like this little light turned on in my head. God loves me, even if I'm stressed out and am only seeing things with a bleak perspective. He loves me A LOT. Then I said a little prayer of thanks to God that I am aware of His love for me. Some of the people in my mind are not aware of it, or at least they are choosing to go through life without taking advantage of it, or comfort in it. It seemed quite perfect, and probably was the cause of the light bulb turning on in my head, that The David Crowder Band's song "How He Loves Us" from their new album was on. It took on a deeper meaning for me. Then it didn't matter that it was cold and drizzly outside.
There's a line in "How He Loves Us" that says, "And I don't have time to maintain these regrets when I think about how He loves us." Chris Tomlin says, "You see the depths of my heart and You love me the same." Pastor Bill says, "God knows what you've done and He loves you anyway." Isaiah 57:18 says, "I have seen his ways and will heal him. I will also lead you and restore comforts to him and his mourners." Romans 5:5 remedies my thoughts of hopelessness, "Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us all."
Weed needs to acknowlege this love much, much more. I need to show this love to Weed much, much more while I'm here. The reciprocation for this kind of love should be to love back. Weed provides a perfect opportunity for me to do this. Love for God = love for others. John 4:19, "We love Him because He first loved us."
Two moments that were precursers to this illumination, some of the tid bits of information I filed away, were in observing God's creation. First when I rounded a corner on the road and my windshield was filled with the exploding scenery of trees in full fall color and the mountain barely dusted with snow against a pure blue sky. Second, when I stepped out of my car the other night and tilted my head toward the sky - smooth black pierced with pinpricks of glowing, sparkling white. There is definitely something about the stars in Edgewood. (Edgewood has one up on Weed in this area for sure. Don't believe me? You're welcome to visit.)
Isaiah 40:26, "Lift up your eyes on high, and see who has created these things, who brings out their host by number. He calls them all by name, by the greatness of His might and the strength of His power not one is missing."
It's very easy to forget but so essential to remember: God loves me. It enables us to rise up, press on, serve and worship Him better. It's better than anything. Ever.

PS - I am very proud of myself that I didn't mention A.W. Tozer at all in this post. Just saying. It had the potential to be much longer, but stop yawning - I'm done.

Flames Divide, Cedars Split

When I was at Capernwray Hall we had a mandatory day of prayer. Of course they couldn’t enforce us to pray but the idea was that we would spend the entire day alone with God. I remember Trevor encouraging us to spend some of our time listening to God. When he said that, I cringed internally because:

This has always been one of the hardest things for me to grasp and take seriously as a Christian – hearing God. I don’t mean to, and it’s not like I don’t attribute validity to what people mean when they say things like, God told me to go here or do that or say this… but I tend to close off somewhat to statements of that nature. There may be a tinge of unbelief in me, or sometimes a bit of resentment that it doesn’t come as easily recognizable to me. Deep down I think some people are too loose with the term "God told me to." I'm trying to figure out how I can be such a devout (at least I like to think I’m devout) Christian and be so unfamiliar with the Voice of God. It’s a little disconcerting. I think because God is so other than me that it’s hard to grasp how He can speak to me. Communication in the other direction doesn’t cause a problem for me, though. Being able to talk to the God who created me, loves me and deserves my unending praise is awesome. When He wants to respond to my prayers, though? Wait… what? Um… how do I hear it? How do I know for sure that’s what He’s saying? (That’s where faith comes in, which is another whole topic in itself, but extremely related.)

The POWER alone associated with the voice of God is mind-boggling. Psalm 33:6 says, “By the word of the Lord the heavens were made and all the host of them by the breath of His mouth.” Verse 9 says, “For He spoke and it was done. He commanded and it stood fast.” All throughout Genesis 1 it’s seen: “Then God said… and it was so.” Psalm 29 (one of my absolute favorite Psalms) speaks about the power of God’s voice (read it!!).

I’m reading “The Pursuit of God” by A.W. Tozer right now, and frankly, I could probably write lengthy posts about each chapter in that book... (as you can see from my previous post, haha) but I’ll try to not do that. I encourage you to read it if you haven’t already. The chapter I just read is entitled “The Speaking Voice,” go figure. It seriously convicted me that I need to focus so much more of my prayer and devotion time on disciplining my ability to listen to God.

If you thought you were going to get through this post without a quote from Tozer, haha. Too bad. Or just stop reading now. But actually don’t, because Tozer is so much better to read than me. One of the fundamental things regarding the Voice of God that helps me understand this whole concept is that the Bible is God’s word (and consequently voice) in my life. Tozer says, (here comes the quote!)

“A man may say, ‘These words are addressed to me,’ and yet in his heart not feel
and know that they are. […] The Bible is the inevitable outcome of God’s
continuous speech. It is the infallible declaration of His mind for us put into
our familiar human words. I think a new world will arise out of the religious
mists when we approach the Bible with the idea that it is not only a book which
was once spoken, but a book which is now speaking. The prophets habitually said,
‘Thus saith the LORD.’ They meant their hearers to understand that God’s
speaking is in the continuous present. We may use the past tense properly to
indicate that at a certain time a certain word of God was spoken but a word of
God once spoken continues to be spoken, as a child once born continues to be
alive, or a world once created continues to exist. And those are but imperfect
illustrations, for children die and worlds burn out, but the Word of our God
endureth forever.”

I don’t think I have been ignoring the voice of God in my life. I think I’ve just perhaps been scraping by with the bare minimum of listening to God. Of course a relationship has to have two way communication, so to grow even closer to the God I love, I have to increase my awareness of His voice by disciplining my hearing skills to be sharper.

“Come at once to the open Bible expecting it to speak to you. Do not come with
the notion that it is a thing which you may push around at your convenience.
It is more than a thing; it is a voice, a word, the very Word of the living
God.” –Tozer

That mindset is vital to hearing God’s voice in my life! Like Tozer I want to pray that I will get used to the sound of God’s voice, that its tones may be familiar when the sounds of the earth die away and the only sound will be the music of His speaking voice.

Oh Taste and See that the Lord is Good Psalm 34:8

I am aware that there are those who love to poke fun at the plain man's idea of reality. They are the idealists who spin endless proofs that nothing is real outside of the mind. They are the relativists who like to show that there are no fixed points in the universe from which we can measure anything. They smile down upon us from their lofty intellectual peaks and settle us to their own satisfaction by fastening upon us the reproachful term "absolutist." The Christian is not put out of countenance by this show of contempt. He can smile right back at them, for he knows that there is only One who is Absolute, that is God. But he knows also that the Absolute One has made this world for man's use, and while there is nothing fixed or real in the last meaning of the words (the meaning as applied to God), for every purpose of human life we are permitted to act as if there were. And every man does act thus except the mentally sick. These unfortunates also have trouble with reality, but they are consistent; they insist upon living in accordance with their ideas of things. They are honest, and it is their very honesty which constitutes them a social problem.

The idealists and relativists are not mentally sick. They prove their soundness by living their lives according to the very notions of reality which they in theory repudiate and by counting upon the very fixed points which they prove are not there. They could earn a lot more respect for their notions if they were willing to live by them; but this they are careful not to do. Their ideas are brain-deep, not life-deep. Wherever life touches them they repudiate their theories and live like other men.

The Christian is too sincere to play with ideas for their own sake. He takes no pleasure in the mere spinning of gossamer webs for display. All his beliefs are practical. They are geared into his life. By them he lives or dies, stands or falls for this world and for all time to come. From the insincere man he turns away. The sincere, plain man knows that the world is real. He finds it here when he wakes to consciousness, and he knows that he did not think it into being. It was here waiting for him when he came, and he knows that when he prepares to leave this earthly scene it will be here still to bid him goodbye as he departs. By the deep wisdom of life he is wiser than a thousand men who doubt. He stands upon the earth and feels the wind and rain in his face, and he knows that they are real. He sees the sun by day and the stars by night. He sees the hot lightning play out of the dark thundercloud. He hears the sounds of nature and the cries of human joy and pain. These he knows are real. He lies down on the cool earth at night and has no fear that it will prove illusory or fail him while he sleeps. In the morning the firm ground will be under him, the blue sky above him and the rocks and trees around him as when he closed his eyes the night before. So he lives and rejoices in a world of reality. With his five senses he engages this real world. All things necessary to his physical existence he apprehends by the faculties with which he has been equipped by the God who created him and placed him in such a world as this. Now by our definition also God is real. He is real in the absolute and final sense that nothing else is. All other reality is contingent upon His.

- A.W. Tozer, The Pursuit of God (from Ch. 4: Apprehending God)

9/14/09

Sorry it's been a while since my last post. It's a challenge for me to sift through all that's happening and process it enough to write about it. I've been journaling, but even that is scattered, so my efforts usually consist of making sense of my journal entries enough to string them together into a cohesive post. Here are some experiences that stick out enough to write about for now.

Last week Jo had to mow her lawn and her neighbor’s lawn as well. When I came home from walking around the piacja with another woman who works at the Hope Center, I met her in the neighbor’s yard. (Or garden if you’re British. Funny side note – I’m beginning to pick up British terms again living with Jo. Just small things, but I find I’m falling into it quite easily. For instance, saying things like “rubbish,” “this bit,” “tip it into the sink,” “chuck it into the bin,” “can I help with the washing up?” etc.) Jo told me to hang out with the Bosnians while she mowed. What that consisted of was literally following her around while she cut the grass. We stood at a very close proximity and just watched Jo work. Every once in a while the Bosnians would point out a bit that she missed, but for the most part, we just observed, the entire time. When she finished their garden, we moved on to another neighbor’s – she had come out of her house and shouted across the fence for Jo to mow hers as well. So we all trooped down another lane to watch Jo mow that lawn. It was interesting keeping the Bosnians company because I don’t speak Bosnian (although I am learning a bit – two classes a week, it’s a hard language!). I do a considerable amount of smiling and nodding. It was so intriguing to me that everybody just kept joining us after we mowed their lawn and we clustered around Jo while she worked. They served us coffee and juice (they drink so much juice over here!) and they kept handing me fresh apples and grapes that they were picking off their trees and vines. They gave me a chair to sit in, and when I would try to say I didn’t need it, they would just keep saying sjediti, sjediti! (That means “sit, sit!”) When Jo would round the corner, they would pick my chair up and move it so I could view Jo working at all times. Heaven forbid I miss a millisecond of what she was doing.


A few days ago, as part of the potato project here (click HERE to read about it!), we took a trip out to "The Village" to pick up some potatoes. We drove four about 45 minutes down a lush, forested mountain road. When we arrived, I was taken away by the beauty. It felt as if we were stepping back in time. The house we went to was rustic and simple, made of brick. We were invited in for coffee (Amila makes the best!!) We sat around for an hour and sipped our coffee and visited. Later, out of their tiny kitchen, Amila and her mother revealed one of the best meals I think I've ever eaten. You would hardly know they were cooking, they were up and down so little, and when the pulled the pans out of the kitchen and set them on the table, I was puzzled at where it came from. However, I quickly stopped wondering because my admiration of what was set in front of me overcame any inquiry as to its creation. I was looking at fresh baked bread (sweet bread with plenty of air pockets, yet dense and crusty on the outside), potatoes picked fresh from the garden that morning, boiled then baked unti lcrispy with a little salt. Roasted peppers also fresh from the garden, served with cheese cream (nothing like we have in the States, it's sweet and sort of the texture of sour cream, but thicker.) Salad, which consisted of fresh bell peppers, onions and tomatoes chopped - no dressing, just salt, - sausage roasted in the oven with mustard and cheese cream. We all grabbed forks and dug in. We used plates, but the Bosnians didn't. They just ate from the pans, I loved it. We washed the whole meal down with fizzy water. After we were stuffed a little past the point of contentment, we went outside into the misty air and hiked up into the hills for a ways. We sought out a trickling waterfall where the ground produces a silver clay that makes your hands extremely soft... it was a bit treacherous climbing down there, but it was worth it to feel the ground. Amila carried a pick with her to dig up a bunch and take it back with us. The scenery was gorgeous and it was so refreshing to be out in the cool air when it was raining a bit here and there. Later we piled the potatoes in our van and drove back along the narrow bumpy road. It was a good day.

9/6/09

Now that I've been in Goražde for a few days, it feels like I know more about what's going on. That's such a "duh" statement, but it's the only way I can think to describe what's going on in my head. This trip is changing my traditional ideas of sharing the Gospel. The Reitz's have been here for eight years, and they've been able to share their faith with people, and witness to them, a little but they have yet to actually lead somebody to the Lord. The community here is 99% Muslim, and in talking to Jo a bit, I can sense a feeling of discouragement and bewilderment at times at the long process involved in sharing Jesus' love with the people of Bosnia. However, the perseverance of the people in ministry here is encouraging and challenging to me.

So far what we've been doing is extremely practical and relational. Last night Jo and I went to coffee at her neighbor Amila's house. Everything is so community oriented. We came home, Amila was in her garden and asked if we wanted to have a coffee later. After about an hour, she called up through the window, "Jo! Coffee! Come on!" So we walked over to her house. The roads here are like alleys in America. They are so small, it feels like you're crossing a little driveway to get to the house across the street. We sat outside and had coffee. Bosnian coffee is a lot like the coffee I had in Italy. They drink it out of small cups, and it's strong - they put sugar in it normally. It was absolutely delicious. I felt very welcome, even though I can't speak the language. Jo translated for me, but her Bosnian isn't fluent at all, so I think there were a few things lost in translation. Izmet (sp? Maybe it's Yzmet, not sure...), Amila's father in law, was separating dried beans from the chaff, so we helped him sift and blow the chaff away and put the beautifully colored beans in a big red bowl. It was neat to be able to help even though I couldn't communicate with him at all.

It is really cool to see the people in ministry here building relationships with this community. I can tell they are very well liked and accepted here. Please continue to pray for this ministry as I believe it is a slow, but effective process!

Should Jet Lag Be Cured? Probably Not.

So I'm flying from Medford to SF and I read this article in the InFlight magazine. (Yeah, I totally read those.) I liked what this guy had to say and wanted to share. Plus I'm feeling quite jet-laggy myself at the moment, being in Germany and all after an 11 hour flight, so I'm pepping myself up!

"You can forget what day it is even without a passport. And why do we insist on blaming the flying itself? Sit me upright in an easy chair for 13 hours, replay the Bourne trilogy three times, ply me with gin-and-tonics and let me doze off with my chin tucked into my clavicle... I'm pretty sure I'd wake up feeling weird without ever leaving my living room. [...] This, it seems to me, is one of the profound gifts of being alive now: the ability to get up and go everywhere, to experience the world in a kind of rush that previous generations couldn't have dreamed of. We should savor that rush. We should savor it the way a dog sticks his head out a car window and feels the wind in his face. A sense of dislocation comes with the territory. Indeed, it's part of the fun. [...] The world is big and it should wear us out trying to take it all in. [...] We should be dizzy with awe that these planes deliver us to faraway places, and at the wonders we find there. [...] A little sleepiness, a touch of bewilderment, is nothing more or less than a normal, rational, authentic response to the still-astonishing fact of being flown around the world. We don't need a cure for jet lag. We need a nap."

More about my trip later! (Maybe when I work off the jet lag!)