Staying. . .

He shuffled and looked down at his feet, "You're not going to like what I have to say." I was standing in my office with a sinking feeling in my heart. How many times had I stood in this exact place with someone standing there, telling me they were moving on to something else? A dozen times? Twenty? One year ten people left the place I work. Another year six people were let go due to budget cuts. Here and there people have retired or moved on to pursue this or that wonderful thing and I'm left standing in the basement. This week I had this conversation with not one but two people. The second one hit harder, as I wasn't expecting it at all. It was suddenly the last day I'd see someone. Someone I've seen almost daily for four or five years. 

So, here I am again, standing in my office grieving in hot, fast tears.

Don't get me wrong, I like my job. I especially like my coworkers. I like staying. . .

But I also hate staying.

Staying means that everyone else leaves. And I am tired of being left. 

Left at work while everyone else "moves on," as if to imply that working here isn't worth my time and loyalty. Left to myself while my friends get married and have children. Left on this side of eternity while people I love step into the Kingdom. 

Sometimes I think it's not worth it to care about people, they just leave you, leaving a hole where they were. Sure, sometimes you keep up with someone in spite of not being at the same job, the same church, the same neighbourhood. And sometimes it's just fine to move on and make new friends. 

And let's be honest: I've done my share of leaving. Not returning calls, texts, or emails. I don't have the time or the emotional space to keep up with everyone I've ever been friends with. I've left people who were emotionally draining. I've left jobs or churches and never looked back. Sometimes to move forward we have to leave some things, even some relationships, to memory. 

The truth is, I'm tired. I'm tired of caring, of building friendships only to lose them. Tired of acquaintances hanging on when I'm ready to move forward. . .and conversely, tired of friends leaving when I still want to grow together. Being left, yet again, is wounding. It makes me feel like there isn't any virtue in staying. Being faithful just ends up hurting. The thought of learning yet another new person at work, of befriending them and making sure they feel seen and cared for sounds exhausting right now. I don't have the heart for it. I will. . .but not today. Today I'm just sad. 

Squirrel Life

A pair of squirrels is playing tag in the autumn sun: around the fir, across my porch, over my roof. They flirt their tails and chirrup, they thunder boldly through the day, through life. Perhaps I envy them their simple lives—unworried about elections or the future. Yet, the squirrel can’t think about the fact that it is a squirrel. It can’t wonder what the purpose of its life is or if it matters in the world and the universe. A squirrel simply is. It fears predators and looks for food; it mates and bears young. The squirrel sails into the pumpkin on the porch with his tiny, fur-fringed hands; he turns brusque and reprimands when someone gets too close to him.

I, however, am not a squirrel. I get frustrated over elections. I am anxious about the future of our country and world, about the future for my niece and nephew, for the child being born today. I grew up with old-fashioned ideals and aspirations, with courtesy and a deep appreciation for human life. I grew up with a sense of wonder, with an awe of the numinous, with a firm belief that there is hope outside of my small self.

I grew up much like a squirrel. Like squirrels, people worked to make a home and provide meals. Fears were few and obvious, or so it seemed at first. I didn’t know cancer or divorce from personal places. War was in the Gulf, policemen were valiant and safe. Right and wrong were easy to discern. The people where I lived were the comfortable, trustworthy sort. Terrifying things were “out there”, not inside my safe world. But the borders of safety were breached. Evil and Sorrow and Death crossed the threshold. Not far behind were Uncertainty and Fear. I discovered that hard things, scary things were outside of my parents’ control, and certainly outside of mine. Squirrel-life shattered.

Sometimes I don’t like the realities and responsibilities that come with sentient, incarnational human-life. I don’t always appreciate the boon (or burden?) of being able to question if there is reality or if truth exists and is knowable. At times I let fear paint the picture that life is dark and crumbling and frightening. I let in the lies that marriage will fail, that motherhood steals one’s identity and is stifling, that tyranny and the ungodly will win.

Truth did not shatter with squirrel-life, however. Truth, in fact, illuminates life and gives me a clearer view. When the enemy of our souls portrays shadowy, suspenseful, formidable scenes of what life is for or is going to be, God stirs up the embers of truth. When the fire of truth is blazing it casts the shadows away, it gives me light to see that there is hope, there is redemption. All manner of things shall be made well. Sadness will come untrue.

When shadow-lies are shot-through with truth’s light, beauty and goodness gleam: as Christians we are the bride to a Bridegroom who will never desert or abandon us—He remains faithful, even when we are faithless. Marriage will not fail ultimately. I am reminded that children are a joy, that they deepen us and our ability to love and to sacrifice. Being a mother is part of one’s identity if they are called to that, but it does not mean they have to give up all the rest of their giftings. Mothers, in fact, change the world through their ideas, the truth they speak, and through their children, too. In the bright light of the truth I am reminded that Christians throughout history have faced wicked governments, evil oppression, violence, death, and injustice. Many in other countries face these things today. But evil cannot exist without the good thing it mocks and twists. And one day, if not now, it will be done away with, and the good, the true, and the beautiful will stand solid and bright and real.

Our salvation does not come through politics and laws. If those things we’ve looked to save us begin to crush us, they reveal themselves as the false gods they are. Some trust in chariots, some in horses—some trust in presidents and some in their own way of life—to save them, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God (Psalm 20:7). If, like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, we must face the furnace, we still need not bow down to false gods. We will rise and stand upright (Psalm 20:8).

Like those men before us, we know that God can save us; even if He chooses not to deliver us from the fire, we are not lost. Our destination is sure and steady—even when we have wracked our limited minds over the questions of truth and certainty and reality. We question, we seek certainty, we have that uncomfortable gift of knowing that we don’t know it all. We walk in the questions, and we walk by faith. In that balance we thunder boldly through the days and we thunder through life, not like squirrels, but like the sons of God we are.

On the Way

Near the end of the year I like to flip back through my journal to see what I have thought and prayed about over the year. Sometimes I wonder at the profound things I have jotted down and promptly forgotten. Other times I cringe at my juvenile attitude or way of handling relationships, et cetera. Last week I found an entry that ended with these words, "You never know what is already on its way from God."

What is already on its way from God? I cannot determine the events of the upcoming days of the year. I cannot see whether great gladness or great sorrow await me. Yet coming to the end of something often makes room for new beginnings. It is good look back to see what God has done, how He has provided and walked alongside us. 

We stand upon the cusp of a new year, realising that we do not know what is already on its way from God. It might be blessings from His hand, His hand holding ours through hard times, or His hand lifting us upon His shoulders during the hardest seasons of all.

I am glad that I cannot see what is ahead. I do not wish to live in dread of hard things to come, or in impatience for the good things. How kind of God to give us the strange and wonder-full place of living in the present. I do not know what God has already set in motion for this year, but I am thankful that He is good, come what may.

~ Johanna

 
*This post is a little late in being posted due to our internet connection being wonky last night, so I back-dated it. The 2 January post will be up soon.

A Golden Jubilee

Fifty years is a long time for many things, including having a solid marriage and running a successful business where the president himself is not above fixing sewer lines.

Tonight, Summit folks spent the evening talking about how much Doc and Mrs. Noebel mean to us, and the un-imagined impact their service, wisdom, grace, knowledge, and kindness have had on thousands and thousands of persons. Just today I heard at least two people say that they came to know Jesus because of Summit, and dozens more met their spouses somehow through Summit. I think several thousand persons can easily say that Summit has helped them learn how to be a thinking Christian, one who can reason through why they believe and behave the way they do. 

God could have used anyone to accomplish this purpose, if that 'anyone' were willing, humble, and self-sacrificing.  The truth is, the LORD knew that Doc needed a dedicated, disciplined, servant-hearted, kind, gracious wife to support him. God knew that the right man to begin Summit was one who was witty, intelligent, humble, soft-hearted and tough-minded, and who was willing to do every job at a 100 year old hotel in quirky Manitou Springs. 

When I think how many hundreds of people would gladly come clean toilets here just to be in and around the Summit community, my perspective about my job shifts. I am incredibly blessed to work for Summit. I would not be who I am today if I had not attended the two-week course, Summit Semester, and Summit Oxford. Nor would I have daily lessons in humility if I did not  labour alongside persons who really care about one another -- both at work and personally. 

Due to my time at Summit I am a better thinker, a more well-rounded reader, and I have known the love and discipline of Christ in ways I had no capacity to experience before. I have been stretched out of my comfort zone, been challenged to do hard things,  and been given opportunities to study, travel, and know more that I thought possible. I have met my best friends and kindred spirits through Summit. In fact, I have had more than just three or four very close friends in my very brief lifetime, all because of Summit.

Doc and Mrs. Noebel, Rich and Sherry Honken, Jeff and Danielle Myers, and the whole group of staff (past and present) continually show me what servant-hearted leadership is.  Because of Summit I know Jesus more - and I love Jesus more. I am who I am because God led me to Summit Ministries. I am one of so many who can say that... Because Summit is not about whoever is at the helm; it is, at its core, about knowing Jesus (with both our head and our heart), and sharing His love with others.

Tonight's jubilee was golden not only because Summit is fifty years old, but because there is a golden richness to all that God has done through Summit. When most of our culture is not thinking beyond tomorrow, those whom God has called to lead the Summit are thinking about the next fifty years and  impacting multiple generations after that.

 

May the LORD be glorified and His name be lifted high because of what is done here. "The LORD has done great things for us, and we are filled with JOY."

~ Johanna

 

  

(Special thanks to Lauren and Nicole for doing my hair, to Lyndi for the mascara loan, and to Stacia for lending me lip gloss for the evening gala. It was a full roommate collaboration - success!)

Pain Is No Measure of His Faithfulness

I believe in a blessing I don't understand
I've seen rain fall on wicked and the just
Rain is no measure of his faithfulness
He withholds no good thing from us
No good thing from us, no good thing from us

I believe in a peace that flows deeper than pain
The broken find healing in love
Pain is no measure of his faithfulness
He withholds no good thing from us
No good thing from us, no good thing from us I will open my hands, will open my heart

I will open my hands, will open my heart
I am nodding my head an emphatic 'yes'
To all that You have for me
I believe in a fountain that will never dry
Though I've thirsted and didn't have enough
Thirst is no measure of his faithfulness
He withholds no good thing from us
No good thing from us, no good thing from us

I will open my hands, will open my heart
I will open my hands, will open my heart
I am nodding my head an emphatic 'yes'
To all that You have for me

Open My Hands ~ By Sara Groves and Alli Rogers

How quick are we to open our hands to the blessings of God when they involve pain and loss, sorrow and suffering? What if God blesses us by allowing our house to burn down in a wildfire?

There are many realities to ponder when we say 'He withholds no good thing from us.' Are pain and loss somehow indicative that God is not good or in control? What if those are things He uses to shape us more into His image? 

"For a day in Your courts is better than a thousand. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness. For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord will give grace and glory; no good thing will He withhold from those who walk uprightly," says the Psalmist. 

It is not an automatic thing that God withholds nothing good from anyone, Scripture states that the one who walks uprightly will have this blessing.

Are you walking uprightly? Are you 'examining yourself to see if you are in the faith'? In other words, does your heart desire the things God desires and are you living in light of that? If so, then we ought not be afraid to nod our head in emphatic 'yes' to all of God's plans for us. Singleness. Marriage. Barrenness. Children. Trips to other countries. Mounds of work. Belovéd friends. Annoying neighbours. We must give the nod to discipline if we desire to accept freedom. And so the story goes. The things that we have now are the the things God has given us (or allowed us to go through) to make us more like Himself.

Are we ready to pray, like Lilias Trotter (missionary to Algeria in the early 1900s):

I am now ready to be offered.
Measure thy life by loss and not by gain,
Not by the wine drunk, but by the wine poured forth,
For Love's strength standeth in Love's sacrifice,
And he who suffers most has most to give.

Measure your life by the losses, the being 'poured out like a drink offering', and the suffering. Let us walk together, O fellow Christians, knowing that He withholds no good thing from those who walk uprightly. And let us see that neither pain, nor rain is the full measure of God's faithfulness. 

~ Johanna