In February, I spent three days as a stand-in caretaker for a surf club in Sydney, Australia. Each day I woke to the thunder of tumbling waves. By 7 a.m. I had completed morning duties and, with a bowl of Special K in hand and my feet on the coffee table, snuggled into the dusty, vintage couch. Only a one-way mirror separated me from golden sand and waves that indiscriminately toppled wet-suit clad bodies onto Narrabeen Beach—one of the world’s most famous surf shores.
At first surprisingly, and then much to my amusement, surfers of all shapes and ages often caught their reflection in my window. Teenage girls would adjust their swimsuit tops; middle-aged men inflated their chests and gave a flex. Some, men and women alike, diverted from their otherwise b-line route to the sandy sun-soaking extravaganza in order to tame a few shifty pieces of hair. Others, in conversation with unsuspecting friends, merely watched themselves as they casually passed.
No one noticed me, inches away, enjoying an exclusive, Aussie reality show!
It was a child who nearly blew my cover. A young girl of maybe six. She pressed her little face to the mirror, leaving nose and finger smudges. She saw in. She saw the coffee table and potted plants. Had she looked for longer than a second, she would have seen me—watching her.
Early in my journey following Christ, my Pastor said that God will use anyone and anything to teach me about Himself. This has proven true.
As I observed the parade of people, I considered how often I approach a situation-- be it entering a new context or attempting to solve a problem. Do I only see myself in the equation? Oh, I may get close enough to take a good look, but I’m looking only at me. And so I see me, a sliver of the whole.
I remembered David. Approaching Goliath, David didn’t dwell on his scraggly self. I remembered Caleb, urging his people to boldly storm the promised land, focused not on the ability or track-record of the Israelites but rather the faithfulness and promise of God. And Peter, passionate Peter, who declared that his love and his devotion would never fail Jesus. Failed. Later, on the shores of Galilee, after a long look in the mirror, Peter again proclaims his love and devotion—focused this time on Christ.
The curious girl at Narrabeen Beach looked beyond herself and saw what no one else did. She caught a glimpse of the world behind her image. As I slurped my soggy cereal, I was thankful for little finger prints and nose smudges on my window to teach me. We will never see the Kingdom of God unless we come as a little children.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
transition
When I was eleven years old, I made the carefully considered, yet obvious decision to follow Jesus the Christ. I didn’t know him well in those days, it was a commitment made on observation—and I’ve been falling in love with Him over the years since. That November ’92 night was memorable; it was pivotal. I was young, but I felt old. And I remember that night having not a clue what the future held for me, but slowly and decidedly convinced I wanted only Him to hold me.
Tonight I feel much the same as I did when I first consciously took His hand. I’ve lived what seems a lifetime since that first sacred night, but that cabin mattress felt the same as this guest bedroom double does beneath me now. These are pivotal times. Few things are certain about tomorrow, but this has not changed: I don’t want it if it isn’t with my Lord. And if He’s with me, and I with him, then I have nothing to fear—and much to anticipate!
On another note: I've moved back to Melbourne for 10 days, and my flea bites are nearly gone! Woohoo...
Tonight I feel much the same as I did when I first consciously took His hand. I’ve lived what seems a lifetime since that first sacred night, but that cabin mattress felt the same as this guest bedroom double does beneath me now. These are pivotal times. Few things are certain about tomorrow, but this has not changed: I don’t want it if it isn’t with my Lord. And if He’s with me, and I with him, then I have nothing to fear—and much to anticipate!
On another note: I've moved back to Melbourne for 10 days, and my flea bites are nearly gone! Woohoo...
Monday, April 27, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
A birthday present to remember
My friend Amber came to visit for two weeks in March! We enjoyed a Hillsong conference together, traveled up to the mountains to meet the nice folks in Portland, New South Wales, Australia... and we did a few other things. Most of all, it was nice to just be with a dear friend from home.
Early in Amber's visit, I realized that I have grown used to walking this adventure of life on my own in many ways. I'm no longer used to sharing my schedule, my bed, my tears, my toothpaste... the little, ordinary day to day things that make up life. I remember thinking-- "wow, how easy it is for me to be selfish"... and yet how much better it was to be able to share, to be a team, to slow down enough to really walk together.
Amber adapted so well to life here in Sydney. It was pretty impressive. And when she hopped on the plane and headed for "home" two weeks later, I felt like I had just been given an incredible gift. Her time. Her heart. Her financial sacrifice to come. Her efforts to understand and appreciate my life here. Her willingness to connect with my friends here. But, more than all that... the gift of sharing life-- of walking together, even if it means a few paces slower for a while... it also certainly means that much stronger for the long haul.
We are meant to "do life" together, to belong to one another... as a generation who is perhaps able to reach farther and deeper than at any time before. Relationship is a gift. And incredible gift God has given us in one another.
Thanks for coming, Amber Dawn! Thanks for sparking the reminder that God's agenda is not so much how much we can accomplish individually, but whether we are able to walk together-- sharpening and carrying each other each step of the way!
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Gettin Real
From The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time; not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.
“When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time; not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.
“When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
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