Fear

Is it irony or grief that makes me grimace? I am reading a book whose stated intent is to help me "live life nearly free of fear". The author says we know violent acts by the subtle signals preceding, and we know the subtle signals because we, too, are human. In other words, we understand violence because, deep down, we are capable of it. I am not saying that the knowledge to be gained from observing human behavior will not have practical implications for daily living. But will I really live a life nearly free of fear simply because I know a little more of the depths of human depravity?

-- --

A man sat in the chair across from me,
speaking of a pain that leaves you
on your knees,
on the ground in public places, even.
It leaves your chest constricted, and you
no longer wonder if you'll make it.

This man, older than my grandfather,
looked at me.
This man with three times my life's years looked and said,
you have to help me.

I look him in the eye and wonder at my own mortality.
I am not free of fear, but I know whom I have believed,
and am persuaded that as deep as darkness goes, grace is there to meet it.

Maybe tomorrow, I can meet the next person's plea with a bit more courage.
And the day after that.  

Sufficient

I think we find this fleeting hour sufficient for our labor,
    in the wisdom of your reckoning,
    you set your grace on us,
    in not one, but many,
    ways.
             We shall be better for it, when we wake. The
              laborer needs rest,
              this, too, reckoned since the first.
Why would you lower yourself,
    for us? Why bear concern for us, the dust, 
    take our shoes and walk, not a mile, but
    build a road? Nay, do so and heal our legs,
    too?
              We shall be better for it, when we wake, to
               be sure.
               And you? Blessed be you for your patience,
               and glory reflected in our faces.

"Only God with His shovel could dig us out"

I have not written in a long time. And when I refer to writing, I mean the kind that comes like breathing—at times, labored, but mostly as a blessing. I imagine this is the manner in which the artist paints and the runner runs. I imagine this is how we live—at times, with pain, but mostly in blessing.

Between the dreaming and the coming true (Bebo Norman), I think we forget what we signed up for. This forgetfulness can emerge in schooling, a workout program, a friendship, a marriage, or a life. One always begins with an image of the future, a goal, however nebulous, and determination enough to put cheerleaders out of business. From the beginning of these endeavors until their conclusion is a gap we can call life, the valley of the shadow, or even sanctification. The larger and longer the gap, the more we forget. I propose, however, that we do not forget our goals while in this valley of the shadow of sanctification, but rather, we forget the process. We forget what we signed up for—which was, yes, the end, the goal, the objective, but also the painful process of getting to the goal. No wonder we are a confused and at times, joyless, people. We mourn that we do not see God as we used to, but forget that we saw from a mountaintop our destination…and are now in the valley striving toward that end. We grieve to see our sin, and rightly so, but it depresses our souls because at that moment, we have forgotten the grace that brought us thus far. As of late, I have been hearing the moans from this valley, of myself and of others. Just the other day I heard from a mentor:

“Our society is in such a deep mess that only God with His shovel could dig us out.”

Aye, we are in a deep mess. What else does one call a place that roils in anger against a God declared nonexistent each time an earthquake hits? A place whose people are terrified to die, and do not know how to live? What is a mess if not the church who turns away from this dying world and acts as if she, too, denies God? Hm. This world is in quite a “mess,” but you know? In the valley, in the living, in the opacity of existence, I think we often forget that (forgive the seeming irreverence of this statement) God has a shovel, and has dug us out. When, in this mess, we declared God’s Son the chief threat to our existence and sacrificed Him to our desires…we were pulled out from where we had lain, self-buried, dead. Only God and His shovel could dig us out, indeed. Between the dreaming and the coming true lies hope for the future.

Fiction and Faith

I have realized that I am quite drawn to book titles with words like "remnant," "return," "last," and "only." Or phrases like "once and future." I know these words may not seem to have much in common. However, I really think that these words convey a nuance that I always hope to find in a good book--that of a recognition of the author of a broken human nature and a future hope.

One man comes into Jeff. Street nearly every day repeating, "God is good, God is good." You ask him how his day is, and he says, "God is good." This same man was passed out at the shelter's front door yesterday, severely intoxicated. Discrepancy in what we say and what we do...broken human nature.

Jeff. Street is undergoing a renovation in ministry, pushing for the best use of resources for the greatest impact in Louisville and individual lives. Currently, we are in an emergency state due to lack of funding (See our Executive Director's post http://www.jeffersonstreet.org/news/urgent-appeal/) However, there is future hope.

G.K. Chesterton often mentions the value of fairy tales in how they point to the greatest tale of all--that of humanity's fall, our individual guilt and rebellion in the face of a righteous and holy God and Creator, and our subsequent redemption through the slaying of God's own son and his substitution on our behalf. If we forfeit our hold on our lives and claim Christ as our own, if we recognize our guilt and hopelessness...there is restoration in this crazy story of our lives.

Saturdays are outreach days for the Hope team women. A neighbor was invited over for dinner who, in the past, had been very hesitant to participate in life with us. Yet she came, ate, and discussed life. Restoration before God? Not yet...but we pray and press on.

I think that if one were to read a story like the ones whose titles I praise, and not know the reality of genuine redemption, one would fall into despair. There would be human suffering painted in its many-colored tales of sorrow and the fictional promise of healing and hope, yet one's longing for that hope would become stronger than reality could offer. Truth is, I do believe in humanity's sin and rebellion, God's grace, and redemption with restoration. Thus, when I pick up a book, I see a truth that runs more deeply than, perhaps, the author intended. If we don't give praise, the rocks will cry out; maybe too with narrative.

The dying dream

What can I say, but that my God is good?

I dreamt a few nights ago that I was in a large gathering of people getting ready to be sent to the mission field. People were applying, were in training, and various other stages of the process. But I walked in, and God told me what to do, and apparently, told the others about me as well, since they did not question.

I was told to go to Africa, and that I would die there. No discussion. Go.
I remember fear in my dream. And the first thought I remember waking up to was "I'm glad that wasn't real..."

But it only took a few seconds for me to realize, my non-dream life was less scary than the dream. Not because going to Africa to serve and die was not required of me, but because I feel like it always has been required of me, and that God is faithful.

"And our questions grow in number
And their answers loom with fear
But still we ask and we trust you
Because you've held us here
With chains of grace and longing
Longing to be loved
And longing to be known

And we go on...

(All this reaching, still no grasping
Faith is there but time is passing
Are the answers in the asking
Where the weak become the strong?)"


Africa? maybe not.
My life? My death? Yes.

What has been termed a joyless summer

Well, you have stuck with me this summer as I wrestled through some difficult experiences and how to best convey them in writing. You have prayed for me and for Jeff. Street, and you have supported me verbally, financially, and otherwise. Thank you.

I find it necessary to continue writing and processing the summer, but I can do that in private. I can do that where I am comfortable, where I can use poor grammar and bad punctuation. Where I can insert some Spanish-English hybrid words that seem to describe that which I want to remember. I said I could process the summer for my own sake. But I am not called to live for my “own sake.” Even in my writing I desire to minister, and right now, I am writing to address an issue that may have concerned a few people—the apparent lack of joy in my updates. The summer was difficult. Agreed. But it was a summer I would never trade for an easier one—for God grew me. (It is difficult to grow in intimacy with God through ease. Why is it that we often need to be pushed toward God by our circumstances or trials?) And friends, do not find that “difficult” must mean “lacking joy” or even that I was weighed down the entire summer with my sin and the sin around me. This is never what I wish to convey! (Nor is it true)

What you have seen and I have written has been called by some “the sobriety of life.” As W. H. Auden writes,

We can only
do what it seems to us we were made for, look at
this world with a happy eye
but from a sober perspective.

The desire for everything to seem superficially fine, good, and happy seems to be the very thing we fight in conveying the whole of the Gospel. We do not merely say that God is love…precisely because we humans need to know why it is important that God show His love. We need to have a sober perspective, knowing that His justice that destroys sin is fearsome…and that we are neck-deep in sin. Aye, and then the happiness comes. That, despite the sin that permeates our being, we are not destroyed—for God came in human flesh to be destroyed for our sin. (And the grave could not contain Him, for He is life.) What can we say then? That life on earth should not reflect the good news that, though there is death, God has conquered? Sometimes, we just see that death and decay a little more. And because we have been recreated to receive life and light, we actually notice the wretched place from which we come.

In Louisville, I saw more clearly the wretched place from which I come. Why do you think the program in which I participated is called Hope? Because sometimes we get so stuck between light and dark—what we call the grey areas—that we need to be reminded that dark is really dark and light is really light. We need to be able to say once again, “if Christ came into this dark, He can truly conquer any darkness.” Maybe it is because in our hopelessness and weakest state, we are taught to remember that we need Christ. For real need him. None of this license plate Christianity. We remember that we need to drink, eat, and breathe the life Christ demands when He says “follow me.” We need to remember that He provides the power to do so. Sobering? yes. Happy? yes.

I John 5:19-20 We know that we are from God, and the whole world lies in the power of the evil one. And we know that the Son of God has come and has given us understanding, so that we may know him who is true; and we are in him who is true, in his Son Jesus Christ. He is the true God and eternal life.

Notes and Memos

I have said that a writer will use whatever means available to write. This is what happened as I sat in the storage closet with 306 bags. I found a “Notes and Memos” sheet taken from a calendar. These are a portion of my notes and memos.


Today, it is a day of testing. But you know that “the testing of your faith produces steadfastness, and let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”


Tension is a strange concept; it is the pulling until taut, leaving little room for grace before breaking. One area of tension, grace is taken from all sides. Yet when all are sides of tension, there is no grace but directly from God Himself. May He indeed pour down His grace in abundance, convict us to forgive, even as He has forgiven. God, may you push us to love, for You have loved first and best, and steadfastly.



I find it difficult to pray, but not to breathe. Would that it were easier to lift an honest cry to Christ my Savior, even before breathing. And yet we humans, myself, I am fickle, sinful, and weak. Lord, teach me to pray.


Our Father, who is in heaven,

hallowed be Your name. (santificado sea tu nombre)

Your kingdom come,

Your will be done on earth,

as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread,

and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those

who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.


There is a man who comes regularly to Jeff. Street. Perhaps God uses him to continually break my heart and keep me humble. I have heard it said that the phrase “this breaks my heart” is overused. Perhaps when I use it, I mean the feeling one has after this:


...this physically healthy man’s fragmented story spoken in clipped and parceled syntax, glorifying the church and her people

(he had a head injury, and had to re-learn English)

...his near-chant of “glorifiable, glorifiable, glorifiable” to ward off sinful thoughts by others’ irreverent speech

(he thanks us every day for letting him “be a part of this. be a part of this church”

...his sincere listening to what we say, though his response is often less than intelligible

(he thanks us every day...)


Offering the simple kindness of listening digs deep into me and asks that I open up to this man’s hurt and to his story. Allowing myself to feel, because this is all I can do outside of praying for this dear man. My God, care for him.


They say that mercy, if truly mercy and not pride, hurts. I ask that the Lord teach me to hurt. Let not my heart harden slowly to You, and then to my neighbor. The two commands are linked, to love the Lord your God and to love your neighbor as yourself. May His grace be evident in me.

A day of rest

I desire to think more. To process events, conversations, big ideas more fully. Sitting here on our teams' sabbath day (Monday) I have some time to slow down.

I have learned that I am a bit afraid of this down-time. My mind goes to insecurities that have not been addressed and yielded to God. It goes to issues that should have been handled better. Thus my question becomes, in the hard times, in the very scheduled, hard day-to-day, am I trusting God or am I just pushing through? When slowing down brings forth the "sludge" of life....is that human, or is that me not addressing things that should very much be addressed and taken care of?

I have struggled with why we are allowed to bring our lunches to the shelter and eat in front of guests and residents who have no food choice. By what you eat, do not destroy the one for whom Christ died. Your body is a temple... I know there is a way to honor and love both God and neighbor by what I eat.

In a high-ratio environment of people with "strong" testimonies and difficult pasts, where do I fit in? I know my sins are just as grave, but it does not mean that I have those experiences with which I can relate.

In all of this, I recognized my need to bring it all to God, first and foremost. Why is it our natural inclination to run to a friend? God of all Glory! Continue to align my heart!

It is overwhelming, wanting to debrief with friends from "back home," be that Jackson or Little Rock, yet not having much time or organized thought. Though the desire is that our friends and family catch this fire that "burns up in our bones," the reality that this is an experience with whom few will be able to relate.

Ah friends. God is good. Hope is real. (I think of how little I really realize this...)
Let His name be praised. :)

-Bri

I was speaking with someone about overseas ministry...
He spoke of staying in America, for even if our country falls, it will be "up to someone to raise the remnant." If she survives, people will be needed to train the next generation.

By looking for the "big picture," have I missed it altogether?
Can I, in good conscience, leave a broken people for a broken people?
What if that first broken people was a privileged people, a group given a chance while the others had none?

May the Lord direct my steps.
May He protect His remnant.

Mere thoughts

-"The more spiritual the exercise, the sooner we tire."-Charles Spurgeon
-Communion with the Lord.
-When am I fullest?
-Whose advice to I take the most?

"This is the world as best as I can remember it/
Rachel's weeping for the children/she thought she couldn't bear.../
seems love comes for just a moment and then passes on by"

And the world was felled in less than a day-
did the first even eat of the Tree of Life?
It would seem that is left to us (?)
That knowledge was corrupted to look better than life
and that Eve ate
is no great mystery.
But that she ate and yet lived should be a greater one.

How much greater is the grace coming from a judicious God than a God who gives merely grace and love, the God we have convinced ourselves is better, nay, the best? The "god" of our creation....Why do we not weep to know good friends, healthful food, and a blessed rain?

Did fear not pound in Cain's heart, when he was angry at the Lord?

Upon Noah was the Lord's favor set.
"And the Lord shut him in" Gen. 7:16
You O Lord have hedged me in, behind and before.

"I'm beggin' You for mercy...And I'm beggin' You to forget everything that I've ever done..."

Lord, search me and try me. Know my anxious thoughts. See if there be any wicked way in me and lead me in the way everlasting.
Because today the past accosted me.

I went back to read some writing I had done for the Ukraine trip I went on this summer. I couldn't finish reading it, for it hurt me too much to do so. I spoke of "shiskas" and newly made friends named "Dima." I spoke of offering all to God and He not requiring all of what I offered. I spoke of not knowing what to do when back in the States. I didn't want to stop writing, for fear that the inaction would close the trip, finally and completely. I feel all of it again, even as I read it. The camp counselor's (Meisha's) last words were "and if we do not meet again on earth, it is in Heaven I shall see you next." But no. Why does the past haunt me? Not like, haunt me as if I had grave sins for which I must do penance, nor haunt me as a mistake I made would haunt me. But, grip me. Remind me that I had forgotten. That I have, not grown numb to God, but to the piece of His greatness that was Ukraine. That I have not let my Amerikanski self upset me more. Oh, I do. I do. I have changed since Ukraine, by the very grace of God. But Achoom and Sasha? And Dima and Julia...Galia, Yasha, Meisha, the ones that bring tears to my eyes because I remember faces...but not the names that were so very ingrained in me. I remember very little of the Russian.
Numbness I feared, forgetting I trembled at. Yet these very things have I done. What part does this play in His work of redemption?

"...for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping.
The Lord has heard my plea;
the Lord accepts my prayer." Psalm 6:8-9

May the grace of God be with me in truth, that I may see His glory, a glory too great to look upon but for His Son.