Shifting

I went to the park this morning. Not because, as has been the case so many times in the past, I had something urgent on my mind and heart - something desperately requiring time to walk and process, but simply because, quite unexpectedly, over the past year and a half, this park, situated in the midst of a busy city, has become a thin space in my life. It is a place I go to hang out with Jesus - and yes, I make the trip more often when there is something urgent or heavy on my heart, but sometimes, like today, I go to simply enjoy his presence.

For an hour or so I walked and took photos. Pausing to enjoy the warm wind brushing against my face, and recognizing that this may very well be one of the last tolerably warm days of late fall. Each thing of beauty that caught my eye, I photographed - and there were many this morning.

It was a grey day, yet again, but I am finding something beautiful in cloudy moments these days. I was reminded as I walked of a time about 6 years ago, when I was working at a young life camp on the west coast, and the sun hadn't emerged for nearly two weeks, and the clouds hung stunningly low on the mountains, nearly touching the ocean. At that time I read every scripture I could find about clouds and was struck by how often the clouds signified the presence of the Lord. There were moments, with the sun just peeking through the clouds that were so beautiful, and I was reminded again of the nearness of Jesus in this season of my life. And every so often, the sun would catch it just right, and in the corner of my eye, the jewel in my nose would sparkle, and I was reminded all over again of the great miracle of healing and freedom that was worked, and continues to be worked in my life.

Something has begun to shift in me yet again over this last week or so. For years I was convinced that if my heart was for the North American church, and the broken who hide within it's wall, my heart could not be for the world. I admit that for years I cringed every time someone used the terms "missions" or "mission trip". I had a strong and painful reaction to the trappings of religion that were so intertwined with terms like these. And it didn't help that my dad had been pressuring me for years to make such a trip with him, and I'd consistently chosen to disappoint him. When I finally went to Mexico just under two years ago, the most shocking thing to me was not the poverty, or the conditions - I was well read, and braced for what I would see - the most shocking thing was simply that I myself was there - that I had consented to make such a trip.


This is a photo from the 24/7 prayer weekend I just finished hosting. My Bible, and an article I was reading on aid in Darfur. I spent a significant chunk of time praying for the nations on Saturday - for Rwanda, Peru, Israel, Pakistan, Malta and others. For the people I love who have connections to these places. For my own travel plans which include Malta, Peru, and quite possibly Rwanda and Pakistan. For my dreams of traveling to some of these places with the friends whose hearts belong to them, and simply praying for the country, and for the friends who are giving such large pieces of themselves to those countries. For peace and freedom and healing to be rampant in these places - for Jesus to show up in real and beautiful ways.

I started reading the first ever book I've picked up on AIDS and Africa today. For years, I've avoided the topic in book form. I've told myself that I was aware, that I understood, at least a little. And I did. Thanks to the travels of family members and friends, there are names and faces attached to Africa, if not directly to AIDS. I mourned a few years back, when news came that the three year old daughter of a lovely couple my dad calls dear friends in West Africa had died from an entirely treatable and preventable disease - malaria. I watched the right movies, read the right magazine articles, listened to the right speeches, and rarely allowed any of the words to deeply penetrate my heart. I confess that my opposition to being aware of Africa had little to do with cultural norms or stigmas, and much to do with a need to separate myself from my father - to be an individual - and he has left his heart in West Africa on at least five separate trips. It had much to do with protecting myself - with a refusal to allow a greater level of hurt into my life. And so I did not allow myself to bond with the man who left his wife and daughters in Africa to live with my family for two years in order to gain a seminary education that would better allow him to minister in his homeland. And I turned a deaf ear whenever possible. I saw enough hurt in my daily life here, I reasoned, why let my heart be broken over things I could do little about, on a continent thousands of miles away?

I taught Sunday school yesterday morning - together my students and I worked our way through a lesson on Jesus clearing the temple courts. The lesson focused on the anger of Jesus - asking the question, "What would make Jesus angry today?" The girls in my class had no trouble listing things - two have recently been studying the concept of genocide, and talked at length about Rwanda, about starving children. And as we talked, I heard again that oft quoted prayer, "Let my heart be broken with the things that break the heart of God." So today I picked up a book on Africa. I made it 11 pages before I had to put it down - before my brain simply wouldn't allow me to absorb the depths of what I was reading. Only 11 pages - but I will make it through the entire book - and then I will pick up another book, and another - asking friends for recommendations.

As I walked in the park this morning, I once again found myself praying for the nations. On my ipod, a song performed by Judy Jacobs was playing. Twice, as I was deep in prayer, lost in the lyrics of the song, I paused in my walk, and suddenly, a half dozen tiny chickadees were right around me - within arms reach, flying just above my head, bearing witness in a funny, creation sort of way to the things I was talking to Jesus about.

So, for today, I want to leave you with the lyrics to the song that drew me into prayer, and with a few more photos from my time in the park.

Hear the sound
The sound of the nations calling
Hear the sound
The sound of the fatherless crying
Who will go for us
Who will shout to the corners of the earth
That Christ is King

We speak to nations, be open
We speak to nations, fall on your knees
We speak to nations
The kingdom is coming near to you

We speak to strongholds, be broken
Powers of darkness, you have to flee
We speak to nations
The kingdom is coming near to you
We speak to you
Be free, be free

Hear the sound
The sound of the nations worshipping
Hear the sound
Of sons and daughters singing
We will go for you
We will shout to the corners of the earth
That Christ is King