Rescue Me...I Don't Mind

What does it mean to be rescued? In our contemporary, highly-individualistic culture, the word "rescue" carries many negative associations -- weakness, a lack of self-determination, impotence. Particularly for women, it calls to mind an image of the princess trapped in the castle waiting for her prince to rescue her. I don't need any of those archaic ideas, we proclaim. I am strong. I am self-sufficient. And those qualities are fine, except for one thing. We are human. Both women and men. We all have weaknesses. And we need to know that it's okay to ask for help. Sometimes, it's an absolute necessity. 

Several years ago, my husband and I took an anniversary trip to Kauai with the aim of hiking the famed Na Pali Coast. Arriving at our hotel, I posed on the terrace in the golden light with the mystical coastline behind me in the distance. We couldn’t wait to get started.

As I looked for this photo today, I realized I didn’t know the whereabouts of most of the photos we had taken on that trip. Probably because neither of us have had much desire to look at photos from an adventure gone horribly wrong. My husband had hiked this same coastline years before while on a summer student trip. He'd loved every moment of it and was eager to share the stunning views with me. However, we were there in February — the rainy season. 

The sky was spitting as we started on the red, muddy trail. We weren’t bothered. A little rain and mud makes for a good adventure. Our plan was to hike into a canyon to see some dramatic waterfalls, and we estimated we could accomplish that in a few hours. How wrong we were!

We crossed the mouth of a river near a stunning tropical beach and began to wind our way into the canyon following the path of the river. Soon, the sky opened and we were caught in a tropical downpour. Water gushed down every side of the canyon, and the river began to rise. We made several crossings until it was clear that it was no longer safe to continue. Trapped on a sliver of land between two branches of a raging river, we were cold, wet, and I was beginning to lose the feeling in my hands and feet.

Other stranded hikers began to arrive on our little island. At first, we laughed gloomily at our own stupidity and made a meager effort to build a shelter, but nothing was dry and no one had adequate supplies. Eventually, the reality of our situation began to dawn on us. The threat of hypothermia loomed large. Did anyone know we were there? Would someone send out a search party? We had to make a choice. Would we stubbornly try to control an uncontrollable situation, or would we seek help? I don't know about anyone else on the island, but my husband and I were praying for wisdom and divine intervention.

After assessing our situation, we determined that someone would need to go. A Seattle firefighter, who was amongst our group, courageously volunteered to attempt to cross the angry river and look for help. He was not equipped for such a feat in his flip-flops, so my husband contributed his hiking books to the effort. We tied branches together to help him cross and prayed for him every perilous step of the way. We all knew that one false step would mean death. We breathed a collective sigh of relief when he was finally able to take off running from the other side.

It turned out no one knew we were trapped in the canyon. It was close to sunset, and our firefighter made it to a lower camp just in time to notify authorities of our situation. Had he been any later, it would have been too late for them to reach us. A rescue helicopter was sent that could remove two of us at a time. I'll never forget the moment I saw the chopper hovering above us lowering a rope basket. Hope, at last! And I never imagined I could be so completely confident that a hovering rope basket was where I wanted to be. So much better than the only alternative.

The rescue turned out a little different than I'd imagined. There would be no hot shower or cozy hotel bed for me that night. As it was getting dark, the chopper only had time to move each of us to the other side of the river. We were then forced to hike down to the next camp to seek shelter for the night. Cold, wet, and in some cases, bloody, we arrived at a tent where some through-hiking Canadians literally gave us the shirts off their backs. Fifteen of us crammed like sardines into a seven-person tent. It was utterly miserable, but it was warm, and we no longer feared the worst. At first light, rescue workers arrived to help us cross the mouth of the river so we could hike back the rest of the way. 

One woman died that night. She was swept away near the same place in the river where we crossed with rescue workers in the morning. I will always think of her and the family she left behind. Her sister, whom my husband had the opportunity to minister to, will always wonder why her sister was the one who hadn't been rescued. Only God knows.

Occasionally, my husband and I still shake our heads at the fact the we allowed ourselves to get into such a dangerous situation. We could have turned back many times. We could have heeded the advice of a local who mentioned that morning that it didn't look like a good day for hiking. But we are human, and sometimes we make bad decisions. Sometimes we need to ask for help when we've done something egregiously stupid. 

If you know me, then you know that I have a stubborn streak. I don't like to be wrong. But God has done a lot in my heart over the years, and this horrible holiday gone wrong was just one of many times He managed to bring me to my knees begging for help. And I am so thankful that He sends people to rescue us, people to give us the shirts off their backs. It's okay to be weak. It's okay to vulnerable. It's okay to screw up. If King David can stand in a place of complete helplessness and cry out to God to be rescued (just take a look at Psalms 30, 31, 40 and 69), then who am I to think I can walk through this life without help? Be human, it's okay. God made you that way.

He Knows Your Name

Have you ever given a fake name at Starbucks, just for kicks? What name did you, or would you, choose? The name of some famous person? A name that makes you laugh? A name that holds special meaning? I was recently at Starbucks when someone ahead of me gave my name. What? This NEVER happens to me. After all, my name isn't Jennifer or Kayleigh or Sophie. I have to say, it kind of weirded me out. Who was this dude with MY name? I guess I've grown accustomed to being somewhat unique.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the importance of names. Names impart a sense of identity. When our name is unknown to those around us, we feel disconnected and alone. On some level, we all long to hear our name, to be recognized, to be seen. But what about those whose names are erased by acts of evil? Or those whose names are known only to God?

Recently, I had the opportunity to tour the S-21 Prison, which is now the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Conceptually, I knew what happened in Cambodia between 1975 and 1979. I knew about the Khmer Rouge's reign of terror and some of the horrifying statistics, but when you come face to face with actual torture chambers and photos of the people who were tortured and executed there, it is no longer about statistics. It is about real people. People with names. People with families. People with their own unique stories.

A common feature of genocide is the dehumanization of its victims. Most of us know about the way the Third Reich employed every conceivable form of evil to strip its victims of their individual  identity. In Auschwitz, this took the form of tattooing serial numbers onto prisoners. In Cambodia at S-21, prisoners were similarly stripped of their individual identity and assigned identifications numbers, which, unlike at Auschwitz, were frequently recycled. Photographs were taken of each prisoner, but even after the atrocities ended, many were never identified.

Both the Nazis and the Khmer Rouge went to great lengths to engender the belief that those whom they opposed were subhuman. Cambodian victims were referred to by a vulgar word that means "things" and were treated worse than animals. Similarly, European Holocaust victims were categorized as "the eternal subhumans" by Reinhold Heydrich, one of the main architects of the Holocaust.

When we begin to view ANYONE as less than human, we are denying the fact that all human beings are made in the image of God. This is to cross over into the deepest form of darkness. A darkness that allows for all manner of evil. ALL human beings, born and unborn -- not just the ones who look like us, think like us, worship like us, vote like us -- have intrinsic value because they bear the indelible image of their creator. Every human is known by God. They matter, and He knows their name.

He knows your name and He knows mine. And He alone knows the names of all of those whom the Khmer Rouge, Nazis, Hutu Supremacists, Ottoman Turks and others have tried to erase. Human history is drenched in the blood of those who were viewed by their neighbors as subhuman. And yet, we cannot live without hope.

Our hope lies in the fact that we ARE known. Known by a God who loves us. We are each uniquely made in his image. And we are made to love. We are made to love God. We are made to love our neighbor. We are made to love creation. We are made to speak the names of those who are forgotten. We are made to bring light into the darkness and hope from despair. He lovingly calls us by name to stand against the darkness. When He calls, how will you respond? Will it be with love or with fear? Will it be with hope or with hesitation?

We have an opportunity. An opportunity to change the world with love. Perhaps this sounds saccharine and idealistic; but friends, we can't just sit here and complain about everything that has gone awry in our world. Love is a powerful weapon -- one we too often fail to wield. Are you willing to heed the call to love fiercely and wildly? To be the person you are created to be? If your answer is yes, you just brought a little more hope into the world. Who knows? Perhaps you were created for such a time as this.

Love, The Main Event

Back in the mid-nineties, there was a popular Christian radio program that aired during drive time in the DC area. I can remember the host categorizing different Christian denominations into neat little packages - saved, not-saved, possibly saved but living in error. If your denomination didn't meet all of his criteria for the first category, well...too bad for you. By his analysis, Baptists and conservative Presbyterians were good, but Catholics and Pentecostals fell into either the second or third category. I didn't even want to know what he would have said about my denomination, which at the time was the Episcopal Church. His pronouncements never sat well with me, but I was a young Christian, struggling with doubt, and I wanted to be sure I had my feet in the right camp.

During that same period, a woman from my work-place Bible study group shared that she had been sitting next to someone on a flight who grilled her the entire time about how she got saved. She'd grown up in a Christian home and couldn't pinpoint a specific moment, but her faith was real. This gentleman wouldn't give up. He insisted that if she couldn't share a testimony about the exact moment she was saved, then she couldn't really be a Christian.

It took me some years to figure out exactly why these things rubbed me the wrong way, especially as I'm sure that in both examples these Christians meant well. But here's the problem...put simply, it is not our job to decide who is in and who is out. We have one job, and that's not it. And thank goodness for that!

But aren't there people out there who are in error? Sure. But I guarantee I don't have my theology 100% correct and neither do you. I am naturally suspicious of anyone who insists they have it all figured out. On some level, we need to be content with not having all the answers. God's purposes are much greater than what our minds can fathom.

Friends, it's not about checking boxes. To me that begins to look an awful lot like the reason why Jesus so often rebuked the Pharisees. Checking boxes to be sure you're getting it right is religion. But Jesus' ministry wasn't about religion, it was about the condition of the human heart, which gets us back to our one job -- Love one another. 

Now, before someone jumps in and points out that sin matters, I will say Yes, it absolutely matters. Sin is deadly serious. If sin weren't a problem, there would be no point in Jesus's birth, death or resurrection. When we mess up, the need for repentance is real. But taking care of sin is God's job, not ours. That's what the cross is all about. And figuring out who's saved and who's not? Also, not our job. Of course there are rights and wrongs, but no one gets it right all the time. Look at King David. He was an adulterer and a murderer. He screwed up big time; and yet, God calls him 'a man after my own heart.'

When God looks at us, he sees the big picture. He knows us better than we know ourselves, and what matters to him is what's inside. Let's be honest. You're not earning points with him by teaching Sunday school, organizing the rummage sale, leading worship or anything else that makes us look like 'good' Christians. But when we encounter God's perfect love, it changes us; it causes a change in our hearts that manifests outwardly as the Fruit of the Spirit -- love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. In short, doing God's will becomes our delight.

I won't pretend it's always easy. We all have people in our lives who are difficult to love -- people who make us throw our arms in the air and yell, "I give up!" That is why we can't do it on our own. We need God's help. As much as it's possible, we need to see things from his perspective. And we also need an impartation of his love.

I believe this world, and the Church itself, would be a whole lot healthier if we would stick to the program. We need to ask God what it really means to love Him and be loved by Him. Once we've sorted out our own hearts (or to be more precise, allowed Him to sort us out), we no longer feel the need to put ourselves in a position of judgment. And we no longer have anything to prove. We begin to see God's own image in others, instead of seeing those who are 'in' or those who are 'out'. Love becomes the main event, and when Love is our primary motivation, miracles happen. Miracles of forgiveness, miracles of healing, miracles of restoration.

As I look ahead to 2019, I want to remain in that place of learning what it means to love and be loved. I want to see others as God sees them, and that can only come as we begin to see ourselves as God does -- as His beloved children. I love how Henri Nouwen describes it, "As long as we continue to live as if we are what we do, what we have, and what other people think about us, we will remain filled with judgments, opinions, evaluations, and condemnations. We will remain addicted to putting people and things in their 'right' place." But living in love brings freedom, for ourselves and others, and that is my hope for 2019 and beyond.

The Gospel of Grinch

Last night our family went to see the new animated adaptation of The Grinch because, if I'm honest, we'll go see anything with Benedict Cumberbatch. We also love Dr. Suess, but I'm often leery of film adaptations of children's stories. It drives me crazy when screen writers try to extend a sweet little story into a feature-length film by writing all sorts extra plot elements or adding their own philosophical or political agenda. So while one part of me was excited to see The Grinch, another part was a little cautious. 

You see, The Grinch is an especially meaningful story for our family. As a self-confessed book addict, one of my first priorities upon becoming a mother was to build a stellar library for each of my children. Naturally, Dr. Seuss books were some of my first purchases. When our daughter was three, she became particularly enamored with How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and we read it frequently. One night before bed, she observed that the Grinch was mean when his heart was small but became kind when his heart grew. We asked her why she thought that was. Her conclusion was that Jesus must have made his heart big so he could love people. Suddenly, she made a connection. "Can Jesus make my heart big?" she asked. She wanted so much for Jesus to change her heart, so we prayed with her and she asked Jesus to make his home in her heart. We were pretty amazed that all of this had come from reading a Dr. Seuss story. Two years later, we were astounded when our son (without our prompting) made the exact same connection. Seriously, there is something about that story!

So it made for a special evening to go and see The Grinch movie with our daughter and son who are now 19 and 17. The animation was a feast for the eyes and provided all the Christmas feels. There were many humorous moments, and we enjoyed the soundtrack as well. However, what really made me love this film was the way in which the screen writers expounded upon the original story in a way that felt organic and authentic. No gratuitous agenda, no ridiculous flights of fancy. (Well, except for what we would expect from Dr. Seuss.) They simply fleshed out the Grinch in a way that made him, well, human. Why was he bitter and spiteful? His heart was wounded. Why did he hate Christmas? It stems from his childhood, but in short, he was lonely. 

We all know people who carry heart wounds that make them less than fun to be around, but a little kindness can go a long way toward healing a wounded heart. Are there people you've noticed on the fringes who maybe just want to be included, to feel welcome? Who are the people in your life that struggle with abandonment or loneliness? How should we respond when someone hurts us or our loved ones? This film invites us to ask those questions. It challenges us to open our hearts to those we don't understand, to ask how well we are really loving our neighbor. In its own way, The Grinch is a wonderful illustration of the Gospel. 

I'll confess, by the end of the film, I couldn't hold back the tears -- and I don't think I was alone. The Grinch strikes a chord at a time like this. We could all do with a little more empathy; a little less 'us' versus 'them'. Concluding that 'kindness and love' are 'the things we need most,' I kind of wanted to jump up and yell Amen! And what a great way to start a conversation with your child about kindness. Plus, it's a whole lot of fun!

Finding Adventure in the Little Things

Yesterday I received a Christmas card from my aunt. I look forward to her cards each year as she is a wonderful writer and always includes an original Christmas poem. This year, she also included a short letter about her recent adventures in Ireland as well as her thoughts on settling into a new home, which we have recently done in North Carolina. She mentioned how she enjoys the "adventure of discovery in a new locale -- favorite restaurants, parks, short-cuts, best coffee..." This is just where I am right now. The little things are indeed an adventure.

Earlier this week, I was determined to redeem my free birthday drink at Starbucks only to discover that every Starbucks within a 25 mile radius was closed due to a few inches of snow the day before. I got a good laugh out of that. Guess I'm not in upstate New York anymore!

Yesterday, I had a truly hilarious encounter with some university students who couldn't tell me where to mail a letter on their campus. They literally had never seen a mailbox and couldn't imagine why anyone would send an old fashioned paper letter. This confirmed that I am officially an old geezer.

One of my favorite discoveries has been a local coffee shop that does fantastic toast. Avocado toast, blueberry goat cheese toast, almond butter banana toast... I confess I have a toast problem. Oh, and they do a Prosecco bar in the evening! How's that for a great idea?

Lately, I'm loving just walking my dog and waving at new neighbors. I was giddy when I discovered a tiny "Give a Book -- Share a Book" library in my neighborhood. I also learned that one of the most popular restaurants in the area is a stellar Lebanese carry-out place. Can you say YUM? I've enjoyed seeing everyone dressed up for game day. Wolfpack, Tar Heels, Blue Devils -- y'all, these folks are serious about football. Christmas shopping in a new city is different, too; and there's all sorts of wonderful little boutiques to explore. Now if I can just find the best display of Christmas lights!

When you arrive in a new location, things are different. Some differences you love, others you don't. But if you keep the right perspective, it can be a lot of fun. In many ways, it's a journey of self-discovery, perhaps not to the extent that I have experienced while acclimating to places like Madagascar, but it is still an adjustment. 

Experiencing change keeps us moving forward. It keeps us from getting stuck. I don't know about you, but it makes me feel alive. If I'm still living here in ten or twenty years, I hope I can keep looking at the little things with fresh eyes. I hope that my tiny neighborhood library will always bring me joy. I pray that I hold onto that feeling of excitement that I have for the adventure and the gratitude I have for what God is doing through it.

Fearless?

I recently purchased a necklace from a trendy jewelry company in California. It features a nickel-sized burnished gold pendant on which is printed the word fearless. You can choose any word you like for your imprint, but the company's website has a rather long list of suggestions. As I scanned through the list,  fearless jumped off the page at me. Why? It is not that I honestly believe I am somehow immune to fear. Rather, it is a statement of faith. You see, for many years fear was my constant state of being.

I loved the necklace as soon as I opened the box, and I have been wearing it often. However, I did wonder what other people might think if they looked closely enough to read the word. Would they think I was being arrogant or prideful? Really, how many of us are truly fearless? Well, I've come a long way toward not worrying as much about what other people think about me, but I still wondered.

I've read articles from authors reminding me that the goal of the Christian life is not fearlessness. Fair enough, I get it. Love is really what it's all about. But when we are transformed by love, the most amazing thing happens -- fear can't stand where love abounds. It's right there in 1 John 4:18, "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." The truth is, I knew these words in my mind, and repeated them often, but I didn't understand them with my heart.

Of course, none of us are perfected in love -- yet. The path of love is a journey that lasts our entire lives, if we are willing. For years, I thought that if I could just focus my mind enough on God's promises, then my heart would respond accordingly. I found myself disappointed again and again. Disappointed that I couldn't love the way I desired. Disappointed that I couldn't step out of fear. Disappointed in my own weakness.

In my late twenties, following a particularly rough period in my life, I was diagnosed with OCD. I don't mean that I just liked to have all the picture frames on my walls perfectly straight or that I compulsively organized my closet. (I suspect the latter would have been enthusiatically welcomed by my husband.) No, this was a degree of fear unlike any I had ever imagined. My thoughts and my behavior were irrational, and although I could recognize this at times, I was powerless to do anything about it. Fear became the driving force in my life to the point that it consumed the outgoing, confident and generally optimistic person I had once been. Fear was my constant companion.

What changed? Little by little, as my heart received healing, I began to encounter a love so powerful that fear could no longer remain. And it didn't begin in my mind. When you can't control your own thoughts, how on earth is that supposed to happen? The love that I found is a substance that entered my heart and then began to renew my mind. As the author Bob Goff would put it, I discovered that I was "becoming love."

So my pendant is not intended to imply that I've got it all figured out or that I don't ever have moments of fear or doubt. Heaven knows it would be a real miracle if I suddenly lost my fear of snakes. But what I do know with absolute certainty is that fear no longer rules my life. I am freer now than I have ever been. When fear begins to creep in, I have a wellspring of love from which to draw confidence, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Embracing the Adventure

Reflections on CS Lewis's The Silver Chair

I’ve been a lover of Narnia since I was ten-years-old, long before I became a Christian. The magic just grabbed me and pulled me in. After becoming a Christian in college, I revisited Narnia and discovered that it had taken on a whole new dimension, a depth that of course I had missed as a ten-year-old.

 Many Christians I know have a favorite chronicle. For my husband, it is The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. He identifies strongly with the selfish and disobliging Eustace Scrubb being “undragoned” by Aslan. Not that my husband was really ever selfish and disobliging, but he recognizes the magnitude of the work that God did to bring healing into his own life.

For me, there’s just something about The Silver Chair that resonates deeply. At its core, it is a story about the dangers of unforgiveness. The reader is brought into the search for Narnia’s heir to the throne, Prince Rilian, who has disappeared while pursuing vengeance against a serpent that killed his mother. Much could be written about the powerful message conveyed by the story of Rilian’s subsequent bondage and deliverance, but it is a different aspect of the story that first grabbed hold of me.

In my late twenties, after our second child was born, I struggled with severe postpartum depression and mysterious autoimmune issues. Fear and hopelessness became a crippling feature of my day to day struggle. During this time, I began to reread The Silver Chair, in which a kinder and wiser Eustace Scrubb returns to Narnia with a schoolmate, Jill Pole, for whom Narnia is entirely new. As I read through Eustace and Jill’s adventure, a quest to find the missing Prince Rilian, Jill’s fears felt almost too real. At one point, Jill, Eustace and their trusty travel companion Puddleglum are forced to enter a cave to escape from giants who would like to eat them for dinner. They end up sliding down a slope into utter darkness. Bruised and bloody, Jill lands at the bottom with no idea whether her companions have survived. She fears she is trapped and alone. Her despair is palpable.

The darkness was so complete that it made no difference at all whether you had your eyes open or shut. There was no noise. And that was the very worst moment Jill had ever known in her life.

Jill’s story brought me to a place that was the very depiction of my state of depression and fear. At that moment, it was so terrifyingly real that I had to stop reading. I didn’t have the courage to go on. I prayed. I begged. I asked God to lift the darkness and let me move forward.

Eventually, after discussing with my therapist the somewhat unusual panic induced by a children’s book, I was able to pick up where I left off. Jill and her companions carry on with the adventure but are now trapped in a murky underworld. Again, Jill’s narrative feels like my own. On approaching a dark, narrow cave through which she and the others must crawl, she exclaims, “I can’t go in there, I can’t! I can’t! I won’t!” But with the encouragement of the others, she makes it through.  

            Throughout the story, Jill and Eustace are repeatedly faced with situations that seem insurmountable. They have a choice. They could certainly give up on the adventure altogether, or they can trust in the one who placed the adventure before them and proceed, one step at a time, with the hope that there is a purpose to the struggle and that they will once again step into the bright spaciousness of Narnia. As  their wise companion Puddleglum reminds them when they begin to question the path they have taken, “There are no accidents. Our guide is Aslan.”

            Indeed, Aslan’s plan involves redemption and deliverance. Spoiler alert: The quest to find Prince Rilian is successful. He is found in Underland and delivered from his ten-year captivity. But for me, the real beauty of this story is that as Jill is delivered from her fears, she is used by Aslan to deliver Rilian from his bondage. She is described in the final chapters as a “conqueror,” a “deliverer,” and a “damsel of high courage.” And it is Jill who overcomes her fears to poke her head through a hole that turns out to be the exit from Underland. She is the one who ushers the party out of darkness and back into Narnia.

            After their Narnian adventure, Aslan sends Jill and Eustace back to their old school in England where they once again must face all their everyday fears, including bullies who had sent them running from school before their journey to Narnia. But Jill and Eustace are not the same children they were before. They are changed, and Aslan allows them to return to school and briefly appear as the warriors they have become, with glittering clothes and weapons, courageous and intimidating to their foes. It is a glorious glimpse of who we become when we say yes to the adventure with all its challenges, struggles and triumphs. We are never left the same.

            It took me several years to eventually step out of the darkness and discover the spacious place that God prepared for me. I can look back and see that He has indeed been my guide throughout it all. There is always more with God, and I look forward to what lies ahead. When I look at my life now, I hardly recognize the person I was before. The struggle, the darkness, it all had a purpose. I have embraced my adventure, and I can delight when God uses me to help lead others into freedom. As Galatians 5:1 tells us, “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.” When we step into freedom, we are free to live our God-given adventure. Buckle up for the ride!