Reminder

Today I sat in a restaurant with a 16 year old and was reminded.

I stood in the middle of 50 middle schoolers and was reminded.

I relaxed in a coffee shop with a friend and was reminded.

I listened to a CD in the car and was reminded.

Funny thing is I think it happened because I asked. To be reminded.

That this adventure far from home had a singular purpose from the beginning-- and that was to say at the end of all of this that if I made it through, it was only because God is who He says He is. Listening to another girl, not much younger than myself, whose position I was in 5 years ago made me remember how absolutely, simultaneously terrified and confident I was. Because I wanted to know God the way He reveals himself to those people in the Bible that go on and on about his sufficiency. I was confident He would meet me where I was-- far from home or smack in the middle of it-- but I was terrified that I didn't know Him like that before I leapt.

In the middle of a chaotic worship session during which I trotted around ready to shoot a stern look to the next rowdy, disruptive kid I remembered being one of approximately six in my own youth group and stopped to thank God for every one of the 50 there. I remember being in middle school and how ineffective every person who told us not to do something was. I think of my youth groups leaders--Tori, Yvette, Laurence, Austin, Beth, Mom, Mark, Jared, Cindy, and Luke-- and how the single best thing they ever did for any of us with so much to learn was to concern themselves more with loving God than correcting us. I was reminded that these kids don't need my eyes on them, they need my eyes on God. So I closed my eyes, stilled myself, and listened. No heart there is a disturbance. And if I am letting them disturb me from worship-- well, I just think that reflects poorly on me. I cannot expect to cattle herd them all in there and hope they know what it is to meet with God or what a privilege that really is. But they should be able to expect an example of their leaders. Right?

I held my tea latte, warm against my bare knee. November 3rd rewarded my decision to mix things up and wear a skirt on a relatively warm day by switching modes to approximately freezing 'round bout 2 p.m. So the drink was nice, especially as it was enjoyed in the comfy green chair in the presence of one of the friends I was so afraid I wouldn't have going into this whole college thing. I was reminded then the power of words. The need to use them and make them encouraging. The responsibilities friends have to each other to drop a note or a call or a conversation or maybe even a beat every now and then to say thank you or to recognize the other's hard work. How sad is it that I'll call someone a friend but then expect that oh, other people will cover the whole being positive or nice or there thing?

On shuffle, my iPod chose this lyric to play.

"I'm tempted to sit back in my overstuffed chair with a gavel in hand

and a tired-eyed stare that says I'm not surprised you messed it up again.

I'm tempted to sigh, I'm tempted to yawn if you'd only do it like I told you all along

it could be so easy

if you'd only be more like me.

But oh that's the beast that brings us down, that's the devil in a satin gown,

so don't, don't call it love.

Cause love wraps herself around the wound and weeps while she speaks truth.

So don't call this love."

Thank you very much, Christa Wells. Listening, I was reminded of what I felt again last night in the middle of a Lifeway. And that is wanting to weep for the wounds of those I've been chosen to lead. To weep for my own. You see for weeks I've been wanting to cry because why don't they get it and why can't they get it together and why do I continue to feel like a fool in this position? Basically, in Christa Wells' jolting nutshell, it would be so easy if they'd be more like me.

Shame on me.

And don't call that love.

I was reminded what it was like to stand in the middle of the store and actually pray for each person as I tried to find a resource to offer every individual. I was reminded of what it is like to want to cry to God feeling ridiculed after spending "church money." I remember having no other defense of those expenditures other than to be honestly able to say that I spent time praying each day that something of each item purchased would make some sort of difference in each life in spite of me and Matt Paxson . I remember feeling like I had God on my side because I asked Him there each day with an ernest cry for help. I remember loving my job because I loved those kids because I chose to spend time feeling loved despite myself.

So I went home and had one of those moments for one of only a handful of times this semester. I asked God to remind me of things, to show me "my first love" as the church of Ephesus forgot (Revelation 2:1-7). To remind me of why I love Him, why I should even desire His will, why He even bothers to use me at all.

Then I thought, I'm pretty sure He bothers to remind me of these things because God wants me to know that He is useful.

Not me. Not ever. Not by myself.

These interns don't need me telling them why to love God and pursue His will and what to do to be useful. They don't need me at all. The one thing they would benefit most from, though, is if I'd just do those things myself. And, you know, have something a little more constructive and a little less prideful to say other than "be more like me."

Of course that sounds ridiculous in black and white. But it's amazing how subtly that mindset creeps up in real life. I am disappointed in myself. And "shame on me" appears 5 different times in my journal from last night.

In all of these things, I have been reminded of my place. That really low place where I belong-- where the little I do have is meant to honor God. Because the little I do have is only secured by the grace He offers in the first place.

Oh, yes, I'm disappointed. Aggravated, even, with myself. But his compassion doesn't fail. And He gets the last word. He, and only He, who speaks it all into being. He who offers reminders to this heart, desperate to find them.

Through the LORDs mercies we are not consumed. Because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; Great is your faithfulness. "The LORD is my portion," says my soul. "Therefore I hope in Him!" ... Who is he who speaks and it comes to pass, when the LORD has not commanded it? Is it not from the mouth of the Most High that woe and well-being proceed?

-Lamentations 3:22-24, 37-38