In any case, I was at my local Christian bookstore the other day to buy a devotional for my brother for his birthday when I stumbled across something altogether unexpected, and yet so very life-changing.

You see, God has me on a journey right now. One that is a little uncomfortable and unnerving, as I have no idea where I’ll end up or who exactly I’ll be once I arrive. I’m being challenged to consider the calling of Christ to deny myself – my materialistic desires, hopes, and dreams – for something altogether better and eternal. Namely, life to the fullest.

The book that caught my eye at the store had a picture of a girl about my age on the front surrounded by a bunch of children in Uganda, Africa. Curious, I picked it up and read the back. The excerpt below, written by a girl just 22-years-old, struck a cord with me like no other in the midst of this journey that I’m on, and I knew I needed to know this girl’s story.

I want to be a normal young woman living in America, sometimes. But I want other things more. All the time. I want to be spiritually and emotionally filled every day…. I want to be challenged endlessly. I want to be taught by those I teach, and I want to share God’s love with people who otherwise might not know it…. I want to make some kind of difference, no matter how small, and I want to follow the calling God has placed on my heart. I want to give my life away, to serve the Lord with each breath…

This girl put words to the ache that has been in my heart and continues to grow with each passing day. This girl, however, was and is doing something about that ache.

I am inspired to do the same, whatever that may look like.

This young girl gave up everything (a plentiful lifestyle, friends, boyfriend, college, you name it) to live among and bring hope to the poor and forgotten in Uganda. In one chapter of her book, she wrote about something that has been resonating with me since the moment I read the last page of her book. It is on the subject of comfort.

She told of a story she once heard about a people who stored and saved up everything from food to materials to knowledge because they were so captivated by the fear of “what if.” They told themselves, “How can we be sure that we will have enough in hard times? We want to survive whatever happens.” And in their efforts to ensure that they had enough, they missed those around them that did not have enough food, materials, and knowledge to get by.

This most definitely describes me. And this most definitely describes America.

Yet, I have to wonder: What are we so afraid of?

In the end we know two things: That we will die, and that we can’t take anything with us. Food, material, or a college degree.

In this world we also need to remember one thing: Nothing is certain. We could wake up tomorrow and our money might be worth nothing. I don’t mean for this to be a scare tactic. But let’s be real, times are uncertain. And one day we might find ourselves unable to buy food, material, or knowledge — no matter how much we’ve worked to prevent that from happening.

So, if in the end we will lose everything – be it when we die or before – why not just give everything away rather than fight so hard to hold onto it?

Now don’t get me wrong – I am not advocating that we all go out and sell our every possession, empty our bank accounts, and go be homeless. I know that we have families and people who depend on us. And even more importantly, I know that God calls us to be wise and good stewards.

But God also calls us to love our neighbor as our self.

Yes, by all means this means don’t call others bad names because we don’t want to be called bad names. Yes, by all means we should deal with others honestly, treat them with kindness and respect, and give someone a ride when they need it, because we would want others to do the same for us.

But I also don’t want to be starving. So what am I doing to treat those who are hungry in my community as I would want to be treated? I don’t want to be homeless, so how am I giving shelter to someone who needs it? I don’t want to be alone, so how am I loving those who have no one else as I love myself? I don’t want to be without a job, so how am I caring for those who are jobless as I care for myself? I don’t want to be a single mom struggling to make ends meet, so how am I making a difference in their lives like I would want someone to make a difference in mine if the roles were reversed?

It’s the more difficult things that we don’t like to think about. We want easy solutions to loving our neighbor. I want easy solutions. That’s comfortable. It’s not extreme. And we don’t have to risk losing anything in the process.

Yet Jesus very plainly commands us to love those who are down-and-out and may not ever be able to do anything for us in return. The same way we love ourselves. To the same equivalent that we help ourselves, we are to help others. We are to treat everyone within our realm of influence the same as we would wish to be treated if we were in their situation (and God knows we so easily could be).

Luke chapter 6 tells us:

Here is a simple rule of thumb for behavior: Ask yourself what you want people to do for you; then grab the initiative and do it for them! . . . I tell you . . . help and give without expecting a return. You’ll never-I promise-regret it. Live out this God-created identity the way our Father lives toward us, generously and graciously, even when we’re at our worst.

Now, I’m not claiming to be perfect at this. Heck, I’m not even claiming to be good at it. In fact, I rather stink at it. I like to be comfortable. I like to know that I have enough for myself, just in case. But God doesn’t call us to comfortable. Christ calls me – and you – to give away our lives. Giving up our “rights” (that ironically everyone in our country is so obsessed with) to certain things in order to love others the way we love ourselves. Because, after all,

Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. (Matthew 16:24-25)

As I said before, I don’t know where I’ll end up at the end of this uncomfortably interesting journey, nor do I know who exactly I’ll become, but I do know one thing: That is where God has called us, and that is where I want to go.

Won’t you join me as I follow Christ on this journey? Wherever it takes us, as it will look different for each and every one of us, I’m certain it won’t disappoint.

(Oh, and in case you were wondering, the book I read is called Kisses from Katie by Katie Davis. Do yourself a favor and read it.)

And yet, somehow, I still wonder if that’s really the point. I wonder if I’m not still missing something.

I wrote a blog a number of years ago about Easter and the importance of celebrating it. You see, our human nature is a tale as old as time. Busyness and forgetfulness are nothing new to the human race. Every human being from the beginning of time, no matter their best intentions, is guilty of getting carried away with their own life and everything that goes along with it and sometimes fails to remember what God has done. That is the story time and time again with the Israelites of the Old Testament – one moment God parts the Red Sea for them, the next moment they’re worshipping a golden calf; one moment God feeds them manna from heaven, the next they’re complaining about their lives. It’s easy to read those stories and simply conclude that they must be idiots.

But if we’re truthful, we do the exact same thing.

How often do we get so carried away with our social lives or with our kids’ extracurricular activities that the only time we spend with the Lord is at church on the weekend, if He’s lucky? How many more hours a week do we spend in front of the television set than at His feet and in His presence? How much more time do we spend staying connected with the world via our social networks than we do connecting with our Father?

And yet, our excuse is always that we don’t have time.

There’s a reason God had to command the Israelites to have so many different feasts and festivals every year – to cause them to intentionally take a time out from their own lives and pause long enough to remember what God had done for them, where He had brought them. God commanded they have these feasts every year as a remembrance, to ‘commemorate’ a great thing that God had done for them.

And so it is with Christmas and us today. No, God didn’t command that we celebrate Christmas. But the point is still the same – we need it as a “time out” from our busy, self-centered schedules to stop and remember what an incredible thing God did for us.

Yet, even despite the most well-intentioned sermons and slogans to remind us to keep Christ at the center of it all, we still fail.

Now, I’m an over-thinker if there ever was one. Certainly, I know the real meaning of Christmas. But for the past year or so I’ve really be wrestling with how I can truly and best capture that meaning with how I celebrate. I want to do something more than just attend a Christmas Eve church service. Something more than just read the practically memorized Christmas story aloud each year while everyone’s minds are really on what is awaiting them in just a few short moments beneath the tree. Something more than just buy a gift for an Angel Tree child. And something more than a once-a-year contribution to someone in need. There has to be something more that better captures what Christmas is really about.

And the conclusion I’ve come to, at least for this point in my life, is this: Certainly God gave us the greatest gift in the form of His son on that “first Christmas.” But the point isn’t that He gave us a gift, or even the greatest gift for that matter. The point is that we did not deserve it, and we could in no way, shape, or form repay Him or give anything back to Him in return that is anywhere close to the same worth. He gave us a gift knowing we could never return the favor. And that is how I am choosing to celebrate Christmas – by giving to those who are in need and cannot give anything to me in return. That is the example that God set for us on that first Christmas. And that is the example I want to follow.

I think that I, and everyone else, would be missing the point, though, if we only did this once a year, at Christmas time, in celebration for what God has done for us. We should be celebrating all the time; Christmas is only a designated time to re-focus our attention. As such, I do not want to only give to the needy once a year and call it good. No, I want to celebrate year-round what God has done for me by doing the same for others! And this Christmas is just the starting point, the re-focusing of my attention, for what I hope to live out for the year to come.

And so I challenge you. I challenge you not to settle for another status-quo Christmas with the once-a-year reading the story, attending the service, or writing the check. I challenge you to use this Christmas as a re-focusing of your attention and a call to action to live the next 365 days of your life giving to someone, somewhere who may not deserve it and could never pay you back.

God set the example by sending us Jesus. May we ever so humbly and obediently follow in His footsteps.

“Here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by Thy help I’m come…”

Say what? Sometimes, especially with Christians, I wonder how often we take into consideration what the words mean that we sing so very often. This line comes from my most favorite hymn of all times (and the only song I can play on the piano). But I have to admit, I would have no idea what it meant to raise an Ebenezer had someone not preached a very meaningful sermon on the matter at some point in my youth.

The term “Ebenezer” that this hymn refers to actually comes directly from Scripture. The Hebrew term literally means “Stone of Help.”

In the book of 1 Samuel, the Lord helps the Israelites defeat the Philistines in battle, and to commemorate the victory, Samuel set up a “Stone of Help,” or an Ebenezer, to serve as a continual reminder to the Israelites and everyone else of what God had done for them and where He had brought them.

Much has changed since Samuel’s day, but one thing I know is still true from my own personal experience is that God is still active in the lives of His people. Though I get busy with life and everything that goes along with it, when I go back and look over the course of my life, I can see His hand at work throughout it, leading and guiding me to where I needed to be, and helping me in my times of need.

Certainly, though, setting up a literal stone to serve as a reminder to me of God’s continued faithfulness in my life would not be quite as meaningful nowadays as it was back then.

But it doesn’t mean it’s not equally as important.

Tonight, I was reminded again just how meaningful this is in my own life.

I was always encouraged to journal by my spiritual leaders throughout my middle school and high school years. I was told to journal my prayers and my times with God, because it would be beneficial to be able to look back over my journey with God and see where He had brought me.

Now, I have to admit (and much to my chagrin as a writer), I have never been great at journaling. I don’t know why, but for some reason I could never be very consistent with it. I can go strong for several days or maybe even weeks, but then there may be months and months where I simply just don’t take the time to write it down.

But from the times I have taken the time to write it down, I can attest to its significance.

The summer of 2010, while I was away at an internship in Orlando, I struggled with knowing where God wanted me in terms of a church when I returned home. For reasons I won’t go into right now, I found myself incredibly unhappy at the church I had been attending since I was young. Yet, I did not want to leave based on my own dislikes, nor did I want to stay simply because it was comfortable to me or because it was all I had known for so long.

I know this may sound like a trivial matter, but words cannot express the amount of turmoil and heartache that I was experiencing at this time. Yet, I knew that the best place to be in life is in the center of God’s will—even in the “trivial” matters of life.

So, I began to pray. And pray and pray and pray. All summer long.

And it wasn’t until nearly the end of my time in Orlando that God finally spoke to my heart. I felt Him confirm in me through Scripture that He was leading me in a new direction, away from where I’d been and what I’d known. And yet, being the doubter that I am, one word was not good enough for me.

I began to pray more insistently, pressing for a definite confirmation. A few days later, not too long before I was about to head home, I received that confirmation, again through Scripture.

I returned home, confident in the direction God had called me, but secretly hoping He would come through on His end and not leave me church-hopping for months and months to come.

Two weeks later, I walked into City Church and knew I was home. I am extremely blessed to be a part of what God is doing in and through this group of people.

The main reason I was so insistent on a second confirmation, though, was because I knew that somehow, someway Satan would bring this decision up that I had made and cause me to doubt it. Granted, I assumed it would relate to the situation I was experiencing at the time. Never did I imagine he would bring it up when and how he is right now.

But because I wrote it down—my prayers and struggles in figuring out God’s will, along with His faithful confirmation in my heart and life, I have something to go back to—my “stone of help,” if you will, to remind myself that I am exactly where God has called me. And because of that, I am in the best place I could ever be.

So, here I raise my Ebenezer, 

                                                           here by His great help I’ve come!

It’s a sensitive word these days. One that rings true for too many of our ears, and quite honestly, one we’ve gotten a little too comfortable with and now generally accept it as ‘normal’ or ‘common place.’

And yet, I’m convinced that somewhere along the line, we got things messed up. Maybe it’s the American Dream gone bad. Maybe it’s just human nature. But I think it stands to reason that our culture has got a serious problem with money management.

I may be young, but it doesn’t take brilliant mathematician to look around and see it.

I went riding my bike through a fancy, well-to-do neighborhood this evening (because, ironically, that is what I do when I need to get away and think), and one thing stood out to me more than the grand architecture or plush landscaping . . . and that was all the For Sale signs. Yard after yard was marked with a convenient little sign out front, enticing you to come take it off their hands.

Now, coming from someone who did not grow up with money and has never known anything beyond middle class, my first reaction to this is, “How can anyone come this far, have something this nice, and still not be satisfied??”

But then I had to wonder if this was really the only alternative. How many, I had to wonder, took out mortgage after mortgage, refinanced a million times, and used whatever other means necessary to maintain a façade that, at long last, was all but falling to pieces.

I say all of this not to be judgmental. For I know I have much to learn as far as finances and mortgages and growing up is concerned. But I’m convinced that there is, in more cases than we realize, an epidemic going on here of putting on an outward appearance, of living beyond our means, of keeping up with the Kardashians, and of not being able to be content with what we have.

But what I don’t understand it why. Why in the world do we feel so compelled to compete with one another for the most and biggest and best things to the point that it kills us? To the point that we are completely strapped with no where to turn, and yet, instead of climbing out of the hole we dug ourselves into, we just keep digging more and more furiously, as if we are suddenly going to strike it rich with buried treasure that will justify all our spending?

And sadly, it’s usually the ones closest to us—the ones we should be loving and preoccupied with—that we end up neglecting in this vicious cycle of “fake it ‘til ya make it.”

As I rode my bike through this neighborhood, 1 Corinthians 13 came to mind. I know this isn’t exactly what it’s talking about, but I think it is truth just the same. I’ve taken some creative liberties. I hope you don’t mind.

And now I will show you the most excellent way:

If I acquire all the finest things this world has to offer me, but I don’t show love and generosity to my own family or those in need—I am a fool and the joke is on me.

Give me a life that is patient.

Give me a life that cares more for others than for myself.

Give me a life that doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.

Give me a life that doesn’t seek to impress others.

Give me a life that is content with what it does have.

Give me a life that is slow to anger.

Give me a life that doesn’t keep a scorecard.

Give me a life that does not enjoy pretending with people, but instead

Give me a life that seeks to be genuine all the time.

Give me a life that trusts God always,

Always looks for the best in every person and situation, and Jesus,

Give me a life that never gives up on having a life that has these qualities.

 

Because, in the end, I’d like to hang my hat on more besides the temporary trappings of this world.

As I’ve been contemplating the gravity of what Easter really means for us, I can’t help but think that I am somehow just not quite getting it, I guess you could say. Up until tonight, I’ve probably spent more time picking out an Easter dress… and shoes… and the works… than I have really meditating and being purposely grateful for the meaning behind it all. I feel like I should be more somber, more sorrowful knowing that Christ had to die because of me. But instead, I spend the weekend going to movies, getting a tan (er, sunburn), and being preoccupied with anything and everything else, as usual.

 But tonight, being intentionally in thought about what this weekend really means, my thoughts were directed not to the crucifixion scene, nor the resurrection. I began thinking about the Passover and the Jews of the Old Testament. Looking back, I see that they had so many different feasts and festivals, such as the Passover, that God commanded they have every year because, like us, they were pretty stupid and had a tendency to forget what God had done for them, where God had brought them. God commanded they have these feasts every year as a remembrance, to ‘commemorate’ a great thing that God had done for them.

And so it is with Easter and us today. It’s not that we shouldn’t be thankful for Christ’s death and resurrection every single day. Of course we should. But God knows that we have a tendency to get very caught up in the busyness of our own little lives, and therefore forget how precious this thing really is, how imperative it is. It is because of the events of ‘Easter’ that we even have a foundation to our faith at all. And while we should be grateful for this every day, Easter is our Passover, in a way. It is our one day a year to go all out, to get really dressed up, and to really, truly celebrate. It is the day we are to set aside every year to commemorate this great thing that God has done for us. Namely, the salvation of our souls. So, get up in the morning. Put on your fancy Easter outfit, go to church, and CELEBRATE! Celebrate the very reason we have a hope at all.

“This is a day you are to commemorate, for the generations to come you shall celebrate it as a festival to the Lord – a lasting ordinance.”

Exodus 12:14

Do you ever get tired of attending church? Don’t get me wrong, I love Jesus and all, but often lately I find myself tired of just filling a seat, and I miss the days when it was so much more than that. I miss the days when I was a part of something much bigger than myself, much more than marking off another check on my routine list so I know which day of the week it is. It should be so much more than that.

And yet, now it seems like my options vacillate between the traditional and the trendy. And I don’t really want to have anything to do with either of those because I don’t think Jesus is in either one of those. You see, a church so tied down to tradition can’t possibly trust God enough to take control and do what He wants to do in and through them. Not that tradition is altogether a bad thing. I am fully aware that church history is full of some really incredible ones. But when a church becomes so caught up in it all that they can’t fathom the idea that God may want to do something new among them, that is not a place I want to find myself. Not in church, and not in life.

The other end of the spectrum that so many tend to be leaning these days is church for the trendy. They’ve got the flashing lights, the cool decorations, the fiery preachers, the pretty people. You know what I’m talking about. Church is a fashion statement. It’s hip to go there, but not to become a part. Not to truly belong, to dive deep into what it’s all about. They go, they play the part. And they may really love the Lord, along with the traditionalists and everyone in between.

But something is still missing.

I want so much more than just to attend church. To go, to show up, to do the thing, and to leave. I want to be a part. I want to belong. I don’t care if there’s flashing lights, cool music, or fashionable people. I just want to be surrounded by a community of believers who are open to God doing something new and exciting in and through them, and who are there not because it’s tradition or trendy, but because they want to be a part, a part of something that is much bigger than themselves or anything they could construct through their own traditional initiatives or trendy ideas.

You would think that in a city secure in the Bible belt of America, with a church on every corner and beyond, that this wouldn’t be so hard to come by.

But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.

After 24 years of life, I think I am finally understanding the true meaning of Christmas. Well, I’m probably just starting to scratch the surface, really. You were born to die so that I might live, of course. And I am so very grateful. But the unpacked version of that perfect little Christmas-in-a-box synopsis is that You came to give me life, even though I didn’t deserve it. Even though the choices I would make made absolutely no sense. Even though You’d warn me otherwise and I’d turn around and do it anyway. You came, and You cared—even when I gave You every reason not to. I understand now how difficult it must have been to continue to reach out to me when all I deserved was to be condemned. I understand now how I am to live in light of that. Thank you for coming so that I can learn to live.

Each time I’ve taken one of these tests, however, one gift has consistently appeared from my early days of youth group on into my 20’s, and that is the gift of Prophecy. I remember being a teenager and being a little frightened by this, and mostly I just find it humorous now. I mean, I certainly can’t see the future. (Believe me, if I could, I most certainly would have pulled a That’s So Raven and avoided a few missteps over the years). And I definitely won’t be laying hands on anyone and prophesying over their life. Or reading palms. Or whatever it is you think of when you think of prophecy.

When I took one of these tests earlier this year with a youth group I was working in, however, the youth pastor explained the gift of Prophecy in a way I’d never heard before. He said people with this gift usually have a more “blunt and honest” personality. Not that everyone with a blunt and honest personality necessarily has the gift of Prophecy. But it kind of makes sense in light of the Prophets in the Bible. If you read through their books, they are generally declaring some kind of warning for the destructive behavior of the people; a.k.a., they’re typically saying what nobody wants to hear. And the saddest part is, the people generally don’t even listen to them. Though they are directly declaring God’s word to the people, everyone just blows it off and keeps on living however it pleases them.

And this is where I find myself able to relate to this “gift” these tests speak of. Not that God speaks to me audibly, and I, in turn, declare death and destruction on everyone around me. That is not at all what I mean.

What I mean is, I’ve found myself lately being quite frustrated with God and feeling as if everything I do and say and am are all in vain. You know how people always tell you that God will use the mistakes of your past for good and that you’ll be able to help someone going through a similar situation? Yeah, I’m still waiting for that glorious moment. Right now, I feel as if my trying to live a good life, be a godly example, and use the mistakes of my past to relate to others and help them see that there is a better way are going absolutely nowhere. No one is listening. No one cares. Well, they might listen, even say they understand or agree, but then turn right around and do exactly the thing I’m trying to warn them against.

Does nothing I say matter? Does no one listen to a thing that I tell them? Does the past not serve as example enough for anyone to learn from? Is the life I am living not making a difference in anyone‘s life?

All I want them to understand is that there is a better way.

Yet, as my mother constantly reminds me: “People are going to make their own choices.” And as I so painfully know, they are also going to have to live with the consequences of those choices. Which is precisely why I feel compelled to speak out, and will continue to speak out—even if no one listens.

I can’t consider myself a friend and, at the same time, sit back and willingly watch you make choices I know are harmful or that you’ll regret without at least offering you a better way. To me, a real friend is someone who cares enough to tell me I’m making a mistake, no matter how difficult it may be or how much I don’t want to hear it.

And, because of that, I will keep speaking truth, even when it hurts. Sometimes, I just wish someone were listening.

So the word of the Lord has brought me insult and reproach all day long. But if I say, “I will not mention him or speak any more in his name,” his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.

Jeremiah 20:8-9

Word to the wise: Listen to me when I tell you something! Just kidding. But seriously: the advice and approval of godly friends and people in your life whom you respect is always a good idea.

The way of a fool seems right to him, but a wise man listens to advice.

Proverbs 12:15

Strings of Questions Make Tapestries of Answers

Zora Neale Hurston once wrote, “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” For me, 2010 has been a year that asked questions. It has been a year of wandering, a year of questioning, a year of searching. These questions, however, though they may have yet to receive definitive answers, have not been without purpose, without direction. In essence, the searching, the wandering have not left me unchanged, but instead, have brought about the most significant transformation than any other single year of my life. Looking back over the past nearly 12 months, I am absolutely astounded by where I started, and where I have ended up. As one of my favorite movies states, “our richest times come right in the midst of our hardest,” and that saying has undeniably proved itself true in my life over the course of this past year.

It would be nice to say that years that ask questions are always directly followed by years that give answers. Life, however, does not usually work that way—at least, not for me. It seems that this entire stage of my life has been a collection of question years, of which 2010 has been no different. Maybe it is my extremely introspective nature, or maybe I just over-analyze everything, but the questions that the past year of my life have asked go beyond the surface-level questioning of why a given situation had to happen or did not happen, and have sought to know and understand what my purpose is in all of it. For me, this life is not about me at all. Certainly, I oftentimes forget that, but deep down, in the core of my being, I believe that I am a part of a much, much bigger story—one that did not start with me and will not end with me. Because of this belief, I seek not just answers to the specific, but I seek to see the bigger picture. If there has to be pain in my life, I want to come to know that thread not as an individual string, but as a part of the whole tapestry it helps create. That is where 2010 began for me. Hurting. Broken. Confused. Not sure what to make of the past, and less sure of how to pick up and move forward. But as the old saying goes, “when nothing is sure, anything is possible.” Looking back, that is precisely the theme I have seen woven throughout my year. No, there have not been answers, per se. I have, however, come to understand that it is the pain, the closing of a chapter, that allows for a new chapter, a better chapter, to begin.

For me, my new chapter began by coming to Rogers State University in January. I knew no one here, and to be perfectly honest, it was a bit of a last minute resort for getting back into school and finishing my degree. A few weeks in I concluded that, since I lived off campus and in an entirely different town, the only way I was ever going to be able to enjoy the last three semesters of my college career was by getting involved in activities on campus. This would enable me to meet people, make friends, and find my place in playing a part of what was going on around me. I scoured the school’s web site for possibilities, and finally settled on Campus Crusade for Christ. It took me several weeks to work up the courage to show up, alone and not knowing anyone, but I finally did. And, much to my surprise, rather than just receiving a few obligated handshakes and then being subjected to sitting by myself, I was bombarded with friendly people, all wanting to know my story—who I was, what my major was, where I was from. I left that night meeting more faces and hearing more names than I could possibly remember, and so ready to go back the next week. Not only that, but little did I know that the topic of that night’s meeting—Summer Projects—would be how and where I would spend the coming summer.

Though it was still early in the year, I had been planning for months to intern at the headquarters of an organization in Nashville over the summer of 2010. I applied, and by March, I was heading out to Nashville for an interview. I waited for what seemed like the longest month of my entire life to finally receive the e-mail informing me that they had decided to choose another individual for the position. Devastated and confused, I cried myself to sleep. Later that evening when I woke up, I noticed I had a new voicemail. It was a message from the headquarters of Campus Crusade for Christ in Orlando, Florida, informing me that I had been accepted to intern with them for the summer. The very same day that the string I was trying to weave into my tapestry was cut out, a new string appeared—a better string.

The rest of my spring semester flew by, and before I knew it, I was in the air and on my way for a 10-week stay in Orlando. Once again, my limited perspective on my circumstances did not allow me to fully grasp the entirety of all that I was in for that summer. My intentions were almost entirely academic oriented; I was going for the internship part of the project. What I did not know, however, was how much the project part of the internship was going to change my life. There was another dimension, besides the internship, to this particular Summer Project—one that I knew about, but considered secondary to the internship. This dimension involved hands-on, practical experience in loving people—people who were complete strangers, and most of the time, extremely different than me. Not only did I get to hone my writing skills this past summer, but I also got to live out the understanding that this life is not about me. I got to learn what it means to truly care about people enough to drop my busy schedule and sit and listen to their stories, enough to find commonality where there seems absolute diversity. There is something about empathy, about listening to another’s problems and reaching out to help them through it, that enables us to let go of ourselves, our own circumstances and struggles, and to realize that not only are we not alone, but there is something much bigger and more important than our own self-absorbed tendencies that we so easily get caught up in. Just as my pain is one string in a tapestry that makes up my life, so my life is just one string that, when joined together with other lives—no matter how similar or different, makes up an even bigger, more powerful picture.

I returned home from Florida two days after this current semester started, and immediately was forced to shift gears; sitting in classrooms, studying, and trying to stay on top of my homework have become the focus. My days are now spent darting about campus from one activity to the next, with little time for sleep, and, as the semester draws to a close, the pressure is mounting. One gear, however, was permanently shifted in Florida—one that now impacts the way I live, and I hope continues to do so for the rest of my life. My eyes were opened this past summer to those around me—to the hurting, the broken, the confused, the needy. And though I may not know exactly what I will be doing with my life post-graduation in May, I do know without a doubt that I want my life—every little circumstance and opportunity that makes up the whole of it—to point those around me to the bigger picture.

I now find myself a little over a month away from the beginning of yet another year. No, I still do not have answers for all that has happened in my past. And, to be honest, I really doubt that I ever will. But one thing I do know is that those questions, those hard times, are just a small string in a much bigger tapestry, weaving together a beautiful masterpiece. One small string might not make sense by itself, but once woven together with the rest of the story, creates something that is coherent, something that is much bigger than simply one string. And so it is with my life, with our lives. Sometimes, things in life might not make a lot of sense. In fact, things might seem like utter chaos. But after the circumstances of this past year, I am absolutely certain that I serve a God who “paints on a canvas bigger than we can see or imagine,” as one prominent college speaker once said. We have such a limited perspective on our lives and the lives around us; we cannot see or understand how our current circumstances are being woven together to form a certain pattern, and yet, the beauty of it is that once we get past it, once we are far enough along to be able to reflect on the whole of all the circumstances combined, a grand picture starts to take shape—one that has been in the works all along, but that we are just now starting to understand. 2010 has been a year of questions for me, a year of seeing the individual strings of circumstances that have taken place in my life. As the year draws to a close, however, I am able to reflect and discover that those strings were not random or out of place, but were in fact purposefully positioned to ultimately portray a bigger picture. This perspective has transformed my perception of this life from being about me to being about an infinitely greater picture—one that is much bigger than I can see or imagine.

Nothing, that is, if it does not change you. If it does not transform the way you live outside of those four walls. For if it does not awaken you to open your eyes to the world that is out there—the lives of those all around you everyday that are falling apart at the seams, coming unglued and in need of redemption, you’re wasting your time. You’ve missed the point.

It’s all around you, everywhere you turn. Yet, most of us are too consumed with our routine—going to church, to class, to work, to hang out with our friends—that it slips right past our notice; we see right through it. Don’t believe me? Go to your local high school and just ask how many pregnant teenagers they’ve had this year. How many suicides. Drug busts. Or how about at work? Divorces. Broken relationships. Searching but never finding. No matter who you are or where you find yourself most days, there’s always the lonely. The rejected. The ones no one really wants to associate with. Whatever it is or wherever you are, you’re missing the point if you don’t look past yourself and see something bigger, if you don’t see the broken lives that surround you, and if you don’t feel compelled to save a life. You see, we can sit in church and read our Bibles and go to our Bible studies and have our prayer groups till we’re blue in the face and feeling mighty good about ourselves, but, as the movie says, “if it doesn’t change the way we live, it’s a waste of time.”

And that change does not mean abiding by religious rules and earning spiritual points. It is the kind of change that looks outward, beyond ourselves, and into the lives of those around us who are hurting, broken, needy, or alone. It is the kind of change that compels us to step out of our comfort zones, our self-absorption, and to just be their friend, their shoulder to cry on. To meet them where they’re at and stand in the gap to meet their need. It is change that says, because my life has been so radically changed, I will do what it takes to bring those around me to experience the same.

And so I say, watch this movie. Every Sunday night. And remind yourself. Ask yourself, as you go into a new week, “How has what I have experienced today going to change the way I live this week?” After all, what’s the point of all this if you’re not going to let it change you?

Life is a journey. Not so much to a destination, but a transformation. Ya know, looking back, doesn’t it sometimes feel like our richest times come right in the midst of our hardest? But God made us to live in community to laugh and cry, to hurt and celebrate with each other no matter what we’re going through. And transformation is tough. We don’t always end up where we think we will. But we have to remember that even when we struggle to believe in Him, He always believes in us. And He fills our lives with purpose and passion, if we just let Him. And, you know, the best part of the journey is that the God of the universe sometimes allows us to play a part in changing the world. Isn’t that a trip?!