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Election season: who do we look to?

The other day, I was talking to my roommate about the election—not about who we had voted, or were planning on voting, for, but about how ready we were for it to finally be over. I remember last election cycle wondering if we would ever have an election that would be messier. I remember thinking, and writing in a blog post four years ago, that the results of the 2016 election would leave a bad taste in my mouth no matter who won. I think that bad taste has lingered for the past four years. I’m not a very political person. Honestly, politics exhaust me. But I think I, like everyone, have been feeling a particular sense of fear and anxiety as we approach the 2020 election.

I found myself feeling this anxiety most strongly about a week ago, after the last debate. Morally, I do not support either of the big party candidates, but in the end, I did vote for one of them. In the past, I would’ve voted for a third-party candidate or I would’ve abstained but this year I didn’t. This post isn’t about who I, personally, voted for, and I’m not about to tell anyone how they should vote. That’s always a choice that should be made in alignment with someone’s personal convictions and beliefs. And especially this year, that’s a choice you ought to make for yourself. I cast my vote about two weeks ago because I voted by mail, and the day after the final debate I was feeling discouraged, frustrated, exhausted, and anxious. I remember thinking something along the lines of: “I don’t know how there can be any good outcome of this election.” Maybe you’ve found yourself asking a similar question.

Talking with my roommate, I realized that I had, in a way, stopped caring about who is elected on Tuesday. Partially because I’m simply so exhausted over the election and over divisive politics. But also, because of one very important truth. I am a Christian before I am a member of any political party, and I am a citizen of the kingdom of Heaven before I am a citizen of the United States. Regardless of who wins the election, I know where my hope lies, and so does every other Christian. We cannot look to any man for the sort of hope that can only be found in Christ.

I have tried to spend minimal time on social media of the last week or so because my phone is inundated with political ads, from both parties. I have seen vicious ads attacking the character and policies of both major candidates. These ads irritate me, but they also point to a greater problem, which is the current climate of American politics.

Before I say anything else, I should say two things. The first is that I am by no means an authority on American politics, political theory, political history, or anything else like that. I am just a young American college student with moderate interest in politics and reasonable education about issues that are important to me. I should also say that I am proud to be an American, and I believe that the American political system at its best is one where good people can try to make the world a better place. Where people who disagree with each other listen to each other. Where people recognize that sometimes diversity of opinion makes us stronger, not weaker.

Unfortunately, our current political climate is far from politics at its best. Unfortunately, we live in a fallen world and we will never see politics “at its best.” We will see seasons where the political dialogue is more gracious, and times where it is more caustic (though I pray that we will never experience such sharp hatred and division as we have experienced over the past few years).

It is easy to get sucked into divisive political arguments, whether that is in person or online. There is so much anger on both sides of the political aisle right now. That’s what scares me the most.

I think political conversations tend to become so emotionally charged in part because a lot of people do look to politicians for authority, direction, and (I use this term very loosely) salvation. If we (by “we” I mean American Christians) are not careful, we can get pulled into these caustic debates. We have to remember, though, that our hope does not lie with any political party. Our hope does not lie with Donald Trump, and our hope does not lie with Joe Biden. Our hope is with Jesus Christ, and no one else. To worry too much about an Earthly, fallible, and finite nation when we ought to be most concerned about the citizens of the eternal and heavenly Kingdom of God is, I believe, sinful. Jesus has called us to love others and to be united. He called us, specifically, to love those who persecute us. The Gospels and the rest of the New Testament set up an incredible example for how to engage with those who disagree with you. I will also add that our current state looks nothing like the first century. I have heard some people say that American Christians are being persecuted for our beliefs. We are not. To say that is to reduce the true suffering of our brothers and sisters around the world and throughout history. We are not being persecuted but we are being challenged to confront our beliefs and the implications of our beliefs.

As this election finally comes to an end, there are going to be Christians who support opposing sides. There will be Christians who supported a losing candidate. Among my own friend group, we have Trump supporters, Biden supporters, apolitical abstainers, and third-party voters. We’ve had some interesting conversations. But we all know that we love each other, and that in the Kingdom of God, just as Jew and Gentile will not matter, neither with Republican or Democrat. If something is not going to matter in the Kingdom of Heaven, then maybe it shouldn’t matter so much on this Earth, either.

This is going to be a tough week for us all. A week where we all will have to extend grace. In these next few days, I would encourage my American brothers and sisters to meditate on the truth of God’s word that He is always in control. I would also encourage us all to remember what Jesus said was the greatest commandment—to love the Lord our God and our neighbor as ourselves. There were no qualifications for who was and was not our neighbor. Jesus has called us to love because He first loved us. If we remember that He is king, that we are called to look to Him, that we cannot look to any Earthly source, we will remember that there is no reason to fear.

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Righteous Indignation

This year has been one for the history books, and we only just made it to June. I’ve written periodically about the coronavirus over the past few months, and how as a believer I think we ought to respond. This was the first time (except for the 2016 election) that I’ve written about current events on my blog. Generally, I don’t think that there’s any reason for me to add my voice to such a vast conversation as the one surrounding the current state of our world. A few nights ago, there was a riot in my hometown and I was reminded, once again, that sometimes current events don’t happen a thousand miles away but in our own backyards, and I felt like I needed to say something, if only to distill my thoughts.

In this post I am going to be talking about racism and systemic corruption and before I go on, I must acknowledge that I am writing from the perspective of a white, Christian male. These aspects of my identity have fundamentally shaped the way that I have experienced the world and interacted with it. They give me certain blind-spots in life. There are things I can never understand. One of those is to understand what it is like to live in a culture that is systemically racist and prejudiced against me. I have never firsthand experienced the injustices of racism. There may be moments in my life where I experience situational prejudice, but that is not the same as racism. Racism is a complex and multilayered issue that I do not think I will ever personally understand. As a white man, it would be wrong to pretend I understand the individual experience of a black person, or other people of color. I do not. As a white person, I have what you could describe as the cultural benefit of the doubt. Culture historically has been on “my” side. This is privilege, plain and simple. Specifically “white” privilege. Privilege does not make me a bad person, but it is something that I must recognize. To deny it is to deny the injustice of the system that gives it to me, and to passively accept the unfair advantage I have because of it. This aspect of my identity means that my voice is far from the most important voice in this conversation. My voice and my words should not replace the voices and words of black people who have experienced these racism firsthand.

The death of George Floyd has prompted protests and riots. Believe what you will about the validity of various protesting forms and free speech–I am not here to talk about these protests. The one thing I will say: I think these events are symptoms of a deep anger. This anger stems from generations of injustice. It is an anger that comes from seeing the wickedness of our world and not knowing what to do with it.

I am using the word “anger” in a very specific way here. I am not talking about untempered, uncontrolled rage. That sort of anger is unproductive. Such anger can take control of us, and as Christians we believe that to be controlled by our passions, including anger, is not good. I am using anger to refer to a righteous indignation towards injustice. Perhaps the most notable example of righteous indignation, or righteous anger, is seen in the story of Jesus driving the moneylenders out of the Temple of the LORD (Mark 11). Moneylenders had corrupted the purity of the Temple and Jesus physically turned them out of the Temple, filled with righteous anger.

I think we have a right to be filled, now, with righteous anger. Why? Because of the basic definition of righteous anger.  To be righteous is to be in line with principles of morality and virtue. And to be indignant is to be angry because of an observed injustice or instance of immortality. To be indignant is to have a knowledge of justice and injustice. You know that emotion you might’ve experienced when you were younger, and your brother or sister broke something and didn’t get punished? That’s indignation, because you understood that something ought to have happened, and hadn’t happened.

That word “ought” is key here. “Ought” implies that there is a way that things ought to be, a way things should be. Seeing things as they should be will produce a sense of righteous satisfaction. Seeing things not as they should be will produce a sense of righteous indignation and righteous anger.

Things, right now, are not as they ought to be. Racism and corruption have been a part of our history, not only as a country but as a people, for about as long as history can record. And as for our own country, we cannot deny or ignore the history of slavery and the many injustices associated with it. Times have changed, progress has been made, but things have not fully healed. We can look around us and see the brokenness. We know that even now, things are not as they should be. And this sense we have of brokenness comes because we know how things ought to be.

I believe that God created Heaven and Earth and that He created humankind in His Image. This belief, the belief in the Imago Dei, is a core tenet of Christianity. It is the conviction that every human, regardless of race, nationality, creed, gender, sexuality, or socioeconomic background, has an innate value not because of anything they have done but by virtue of who they are. Psalm 139, my favorite psalm, which I frequently reference, says:

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.” (Psalm 139: 13-14, ESV)

This is a beautiful verse, one that brings me deep joy because of the promise it contains. It is a reminder that we all are beautiful. That we have all been fearfully crafted, wonderfully made. The incredible, unfathomable handiwork of God can be seen in the life and breath of any human, regardless of how much or how little that person looks like someone else. This value, present in all, should then prompt us to act with love and respect towards all around us, recognizing everyone else as fellow image-bearers, as fellow reflections of our own beautiful humanity.

Brothers and sisters, we know how things ought to be. We know that they are not there. As such, I believe we should be filled with righteous indignation. We know what is right and we are indignant at the injustice we see. We should be the first to stand up and stand against any instance of evil, including systemic oppression and racist institutions and actions. We should stand up and say that it is wrong, and we must hold our fellow believers to a higher standard, because we should know better. We know that we are all created in the Image of God–that we are all created equal. We must then act like it, and encourage others to do the same. We must confront any cultural biases that have skewed our own perspective, and learn, and grow. We must be willing to do better and be better because we know better. 

There’s a quote famously (falsely) attributed to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a pastor and a leader of anti-Nazi resistance from WWII. There is truth in this quote despite its nebulous origins: “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” These strong words are an indictment against passivity, and they contain an idea that I (mostly) agree with. If we see an injustice, we should speak against it. We should not speak so loudly as to drown out the most important voices in the conversation, nor speak so loudly that we don’t have the humility to listen to those who might disagree with us, but we have the responsibility to speak in line with our convictions.

And as believers we hold the truth of consolation in our hearts and in our hands: the deep healing truth of unity with Christ. We know that the fullness of this consolation and rebirth and wholeness will only come in the new Heaven and the new Earth, but until then we are here and we have been given the divine commandment to preach this Good News to everyone. This Good News, this Gospel, starts with news which isn’t as good: the news that the world in which we live is broken. That things are dark, the world is depraved, and full of sin. We who know the light have a responsibility shine in the darkness because when the light shines in the darkness, the darkness cannot overcome it. We must not hide that light away, even when hiding the light might be more comfortable. We must push ourselves into discomfort and be willing to engage in difficult conversations with humility. And we must, we must, be willing to listen to the hurt of the world, because when we listen, we will know when to speak. Because to not speak, when we have seen and heard what is wrong, is to permit.

***

One thing that I have to keep reminding myself to learn and to grow and to be a good ally is more than just posting on Instagram–or even on a blog. I’ve tried to take some steps to educate myself. In a follow up post, I’m going to include some of the resources I’ve personally explored to educate myself and take some action steps towards being a better anti-racist ally, but I’ve included a shortlist of resources here. This is by no means an authoritative or definitive list, but rather some things that I have found personally helpful.

  1. Some books to explore
  2. Some podcasts to listen to
  3. The Black Lives Matter website
  4. An insightful article on what it means to be an ally
  5. A very comprehensive list of resources from Forbes

 

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A short reflection on hope

Yesterday Michigan’s stay-at-home order was extended to the middle of May, just as all around the country people find themselves facing longer periods of isolation than expected–and sometimes increased anxiety about health and safety as the COVID-19 pandemic continues in its spread. Personally I have found myself often discouraged in this time, though I also recognize that I have had the blessing so far of health and safety, a gift I do not take for granted. Despite this, I often find myself wondering–when will this end? How will this end?

Not long after my phone buzzed with the government alert to “STAY HOME STAY SAFE”, I was in our kitchen washing a dish at the sink. The weather this week has been pretty typical for a Michigan April–we’ve had everything from gorgeous sunshine to snow. That day had turned out rather pleasant. There were birds chirping and when I had gone outside to grab the mail I could smell the new life blooming on the trees. Back inside, washing that dish, I looked out the window. In our garden  below the window, something caught me eye: a blue jay, picking at a stick in the mulch.

It was a very simple sight and the bird flew away quickly, but for some reason the sight of it overwhelmed me and I kept thinking about it for the rest of the day. The image of that bird had brought vividly to my mind the promise of Matthew 6:26-27–

Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?

All of Matthew 6 is rich and full of promises, but these verses, and those that follow, have always resonated with me. Growing up I was always someone who struggled with worrying. I won’t say anxiety, per se, but I definitely found myself concerned about the future to the point of it overwhelming, paralyzing me. There have been moments every now and then over the past few months where I have found myself falling back into those old patterns, spiraling in my head into feelings of anxiousness that grow ever-tighter until I feel trapped in them. I have had to very consciously choose joy and contentment throughout this period of unknown, as one of my greatest weaknesses is faithfulness in the unknown, when there is not a plan.

But then I remember this verse, and I see the promise of God in Matthew 6. And yesterday I saw that bird. Now, I won’t necessarily say that the bird was a sign from God–but sometimes signs are contingent on how we interpret them, and in that bird I saw a message, a reminder, a signpost of hope.

That blue jay isn’t aware of the COVID-19 panic. He (or she? I don’t know how to tell a bird’s gender) was not anxious about viruses or even about building his (or her) nest or finding his (or her) next meal. I’d venture to say that birds probably don’t have the capacity to experience anxiety. They exist in a world where their needs will be met, as far as they need to be.

But then again…so do we. We just have the added gift (and burden, sometimes) of having some agency in our lives, where we have been given the role of doing what we can to provide for ourselves. But sometimes we run up against something against which we have no power. A global pandemic, if you will. It is in those moments that we will be prompted to anxiety and fear more than ever before.

And even so, God’s promises still stand.

Something like a pandemic makes us brutally aware of our own inabilities, but in times like this God has not changed. He promised to provide for us and His promises are unbreakable. Jesus said that we have no more reason to worry than the birds of the air, and I’m going to trust Him on that.

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Reflections on a Calling

I’m now a junior in college, and as we’ve transitioned into online classes for (presumably) the rest of our semester, many of us juniors are facing the idea of senior year a bit sooner than we thought we would. At least, I am. I have two (and a quarter) semesters left in college, and by next December I’ll have finished my studies for my major, English, and my minor, Digital Entrepreneurship. I’ll spend my spring semester taking classes of interest and supplemental classes that’ll hopefully give me some hard skills as I go out into my future career.

The idea that within twelve months I’ll be facing graduation, a career, and “real life” is, I won’t lie, a little intimidating. Especially considering how about two years ago I was writing this post, about my freshman year, reflections that still seem so near and recent.

One of the biggest “themes” throughout my time at college has been the idea of calling. It’s something we talk about often at my school: what does it mean to seek your calling as a Christian in a secular world? For a long time I don’t think I necessarily had the right perspective on this. I thought that seeking my calling–seeking how I could honor Christ in my career–meant finding the one career that God had “ordained” for me to take. That by some divine revelation I would one day know that I was “meant” to be a journalist, or an editor, or a copywriter, or a lawyer. And this belief gave me a lot of anxiety.

I never felt that there was, necessarily, one career that I felt “called” towards. But recently I began to wonder if I had been thinking about it wrongly. Perhaps it isn’t that God necessarily calls people to a specific position. Rather, the LORD definitely calls us to use our gifts in a way that bring Him glory and that advance His kingdom. Last night, a friend of mine shared in a Bible study about the parable of the talents. In the Bible, Jesus tells the story of a manager who left his household for a bit, leaving his servants each with a bit of money to steward. Some of these servants took this money and invested it, or used to it earn more. Others hid the money and kept it safe. The servants who honored the master the most were the ones who used this money and got a return on it, taking the gift that had been given and using it to give back to the master.

That’s exactly what we’re called to do with the gifts the LORD has given us. First, if we have been given the gift of salvation, we must be witnesses with that gift, bringing more into His kingdom. But we have also been given other gifts, other “talents”, which we can use to honor Him. For some people, these gifts can be used to meet a very specific need–they might have a more specific and exact career, then, through which they will honor God by pursuing their calling of using their gifts to give back to Him. Other people (and I think I might fall more into this category) might be able to serve God in a really wide variety of careers, finding a diverse set of ways to honor God through the application of the gifts He has given us. I once found that overwhelming, intimidating. But I now see that, too, as a gift.

God opens doors in our lives, yet we have also been given free will for a reason. Over the past few years, God has blessed me with opening a number of doors for various job opportunities and careers, some of which are notable divergences from where I thought I would serve Him. He has opened these doors, but I must be the one who steps through them. That’s what faith is. He is not going to push me through the door. But if we seek to honor Him and seek ways that He has opened doors in our lives, then we might bring Him honor by stepping out in faith and making a choice. Choosing to honor Him in our vocation, because ultimately the calling all of us share is to give glory to God in and through all things.

 

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Christ’s Constancy

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8). I have been working through the book of Hebrews in my morning devotions and today, as I read through the final chapter of the book, this verse struck me as poignantly applicable.

Considering the context of the world around us, I once again remind myself that I am very blessed and that so far, I have been sheltered and kept safe through this uncertain time. Even as I was sent home to Michigan after my college transitioned into online classes, the most pressing impact this had on my life was social inconvenience, not medical danger or increased occupational hazard. God has been overwhelmingly faithful to me in this time.

As I eased back into life at home, unpacking my clothes, hanging my pictures, setting up a workspace in my room, I began to feel restless. I’m struggling to think of a more specific word that applies to how I felt but restless, or maybe “unmoored”, might be the best I can think of. Despite trying to do my best to maintain perspective, I had to recognize that I was feeling restless and unmoored, or anchorless, in this time and I knew that in recognizing this I had to try to confront the source of the concern.

When I am at school, I have a full day and follow a detailed routine to make sure that I can get everything done. I didn’t realize that I was Type-A until I thought that scheduling times in your calendar to eat and sleep just might not be normal. Coming home this schedule, obviously, has had to readjust drastically. For the first few days back in my old setting, not at school, I milled about, unproductive for the most part. I watched a LOT of Netflix. I wasn’t completely a sloth, thankfully–I organized my bookshelves, wrote some letters, and read a book I had been meaning to get to. But something felt off and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then over the weekend I realized that I simply needed a routine. Not so much because I wanted to be “in control” but because as a person I am someone who desires order. I just have to be careful of where I look for that order: in something of my own creation, or in the faithfulness of God?

Yesterday, I finally sat down and laid out a daily routine, blocking out my time and days in much the same way that I do at school, but this time with some more hesitation. “Am I just a slave to my schedule?” I asked myself. Ultimately, I decided that (at my best) I am not. But in order for me to be at my  best, I require a routine. At my worst, my schedule controls me. At my best I remind myself that God controls my time, that it does and always has belonged to Him.

Sitting down this morning with my coffee and Bible, reading Hebrews 13, God spoke to me through His Word. I don’t know why we’re always surprised when He does that (or at least, I tend to be). “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” What a beautiful promise that is. I felt unmoored not because I didn’t have a schedule, but because I wasn’t properly leaning into the promises of Christ’s constancy. In all things He is the same. In all things, He is good.

I would encourage you today to read the rest of Hebrews 13–even the entire book. It is a chapter (and book) filled with convicting challenges, powerful encouragement, and deep spiritual truth. But for now, I want to leave you with the benediction found at the end of Hebrews:

“Now may the God of peace who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great shepherd of the sheep, by the blood of the eternal covenant, equip you with everything good that you may do his will, working in us that which is pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen.” Hebrews 13: 20-21

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Meditations on fear, and a hymn

“Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?” Such is the promise that comes to us in Psalm 139:7, my favorite psalm, and one full of the richness of the LORD’s love; a psalm that reminds us that before all, through all, and beyond all is God, great, mighty, loving, and beyond our comprehension. The psalm goes on:

“Where shall I go from your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,”
even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with you.”

(Psalm 139:7-12, ESV)

This psalm came to mind this morning. Something I needed to hear. The past few weeks for many have been a time of confusion and even fear. I have so far been blessed with shelter and safety, untouched directly or even tangentially by the spread of such an unexpected virus, though I know this could change any day, and I know that others have had another narrative. Many in these past months have had to confront the ultimate far sooner than they imagined, and I think that even those of us who have not been touched directly by the spread of the virus have been given pause. Panic is certainly not a Christian virtue, but empathy is, and all life is precious so all death is tragic. Statistics may be thrown about regarding the supposed severity of this event compared to others but for now I will set those aside to say that grief in the face of something like this is nothing to be ashamed of. Jesus wept when Lazarus died, though He knew He would raise His friend in only a few moments. Jesus wept because all death is wrong, and death should not be.

Before I continue, I will say that I am by no means a medical authority (nothing close, at all–I’m an English major). So I will say nothing about the mechanics of this virus. Nothing I would have to say would be of value, or add anything to the many conversations out there. I am not even going to speak so much about the virus, but rather a bit about my own testimony, and what I have learned from that about fear, trust, and the goodness of God. These thoughts come not from a place of objective authority, but from simply one person who has had a very good life, but a life like all lives filled with bumps of uncertainty and times of great fear.

Years ago, I had a small picture of what it means to face the fear of the unknown. At the age of fourteen, I underwent life-altering spinal reconstructive surgery. Though, to God’s glory, all things went smoothly with the surgery, there was a chance I would come out of the surgery paralyzed or blind or with a number of other complications. There were no complications, for which I will always be thankful. Even so, in that time, I learned what it meant to feel pain. I hope that nothing in my life will ever be as painful as what I lived through that week and the months that followed. And yet I will always be thankful for that week, for that surgery. I had spent years leading up to that surgery angry at God. Why had He not healed me? Why had He not taken from me the spinal deformity that had caused me so much pain and confusion for most of my life? Why was I now experiencing what I could only describe as agony, both physical and emotional as my spine knit itself back together under the hands of doctors. I realized how broken I was and how there was nothing I could do about it.

However–

“For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.”

(Psalm 139: 13-16, ESV)

I realized I had been given a gift. Not a burden, but a gift. How many people are so blessed that their bodies are and always will be an inescapable reminder of God’s grace? I will always walk around with the physical scars that remind me of a deep truth: I was born broken and through nothing of my own strength could I make myself whole. And though I prayed for healing, I had to learn to trust that God would answer my prayers, but He would do them in His time and in His way. That way was painful and it involved suffering but it was through this pain that I was reminded that I have no strength of my own, but the LORD is always with me. I came out of the other end of that surgery physically whole in a way I never had been before, but blessed with a deeper gift: I now saw in myself a physical reminder of the humbling power, everlasting grace, and aching beauty of sanctification.

Was I afraid going into the surgery? Absolutely. But did I have to trust the LORD? Yes. Something I have needed to remember countless times in my life: we are creatures who have been given the gift and the burden of feeling things, sometimes so deeply. We are beings of emotion, of passion and pain, love and of fear. I think it is wrong to deny an emotion, even one like fear, because to do so is to deny the solution and the consolation for that fear: that is, God, and the promise of His Son. We must let ourselves acknowledge and feel through our fear so that we do not dwell on it, and so that we remember we must trust God.

So if you now feel fear, remember that in all things God has been, is, and will be with you. There is nowhere you can go to flee from His presence. And there is nothing greater than God. God is greater than fear, than panic, than uncertainty and confusion and pain.

Lastly, I wanted to share the lyrics of the powerful prayer and hymn It Is Well With My Soul, which became a part of my devotions this morning. This hymn was originally composed by Horatio Spafford in 1873. Written not in a time of good fortune, but in a time after he had lost his business, livelihood, and all of his children in a series of horrible catastrophes. I did not know that for a long time, and after learning this, I came to see the hymn for the aching prayer that it is, the words of surrender and of trust even in the midst of great pain, fear, and uncertainty. There are many versions of the hymn out there after 150 years, and I have included one here:

When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot Thou hast taught me to say,
“It is well, it is well with my soul!”
It is well with my soul!
It is well, it is well with my soul!

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin—oh, the bliss of this glorious thought—
My sin, not in part, but the whole,
Is nailed to His Cross, and I bear it no more;
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live;
If dark hours about me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

 

My prayer now in my own life is for the peace of Christ to be whispered in my soul. I will praise Him in all things, and I will pray as always, for His goodness and healing in a spiritually and physically broken world. Nothing surprises the LORD, and in and through all things He will be will work His plan.

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Don’t Lose the Wonder

Merry Christmas! (If a few days late). Christmas is my favorite time of the year. I have always loved it and the traditions that go along with it in my family and in my community. Every year, however, over the past three or so years, Christmas has felt different–or rather, the way I feel about Christmas leading up to it feels different. I think that part of that can be attributed to college. It really can be hard to feel the joy, wonder, and anticipation of Christmas and the advent season when you spend most of your days between Thanksgiving Break and the end of the semester holed up in a classroom or the library studying for finals. But I also think a part of it (that is, not feeling that sense of wonder leading up to Christmas as much now) comes from “growing up.” As we age, our perspective on Christmas changes.

Christmas is a beautiful time of the year, and aside from everything “secular” that has come to surround the holiday, it is an important day in the Christian faith as it commemorates the birth of Christ. As a people we have crafted around this day a series of rich traditions built on love, community, generosity, and hospitality. But deeper than these sentiments are some very key truths: Christmas is about salvation, and about the ultimate gift of Christ coming down as a man to die for our sins. That is beyond any gift we can give to each other.

I think that, as kids, it is difficult for us to comprehend the fullness of the truths behind Christmas. We do, however, as children, experience the love of our families, communities–and the joy of anticipating a gift that we know is to come. As we age, we might not appreciate some of the more material aspects or traditions of Christmas as much (whether that is because we now see some of the stress that goes into the traditions or we are not able to interact with them as much, or some other reason), but we now have the ability to appreciate the deeper wonder behind Christmas: the wonder of the Incarnation.

Perhaps I am unique in this, but I found myself over the past few years simply growing away from some of the childish wonders of Christmas and not growing into the more mature appreciation for what this holiday represents. On Twitter or with friends, the feeling of jadedness about Christmas or the lack of “holiday spirit” or “festiveness” was affirmed as something that just happened as you grew older. But, how could this be right? As I found myself reflecting back on Christmas and some of the thoughts I had begun to develop during the Advent season based on discussions I had with others, I realized, or decided, that as an adult, I really should be in even a deeper wonder at what Christmas means than when I was a child. Are we not called to have faith like a child? I think now is a perfect time for that to apply.

When we were children, we appreciated the “childish” (and by this I don’t mean immature or worthless) things of Christmas. These things are still beautiful and important traditions and can be discovered in a new way as adults–I’ve recently fallen back in love with cheesy Christmas movies! But also now, as adults, we can appreciate the things about Christmas that maybe we could not as children, but we should appreciate them with the same wonder, awe, and joy of children. Is not the LORD coming to Earth as a humble infant so that He might grow up as a human, be tempted by sin, remain pure, and ultimately die for the sins of the world far more wonderful, awe-inspiration, and joy-provoking than the idea of a jolly old elf delivering gifts to all the children of the world? I think it is.

And this Christmas, that idea, of the Incarnation, of the gift of salvation, that filled me with wonder. Though this is something I have believed in for as long as I can remember, and the Christian faith has been a part of my life since before I was born, I felt like I understood the way I interact with my faith a little better this year. I was convicted of a lack of wonder, and reminded that I must take a posture of humble, childlike, awe-filled wonder both during this season of Christmas, and during every day of my life.

So, as this Christmas season is drawing to a close, I wanted to encourage both myself and others to remember this posture of joy and wonder. This is something I hope to carry into the New Year with me, as the gift of salvation is with us every day, not just during the month of December. It is my prayer that you feel the joy of the LORD and the knowledge and assurance of His salvation in your life if you have accepted Him, and that you would live in wonder, and in a longing to share that gift with others as we always share gifts in the time of Christmas.

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Reflections on Sophomore Year

I’m halfway done with college, and that’s odd. It’s not that I never thought I’d make it here. I always hoped that I would–it was always in my plan to go to college. The oddness comes more from the realization that this significant time of my life is going to end.

 

About a year ago, I wrote a post reflecting on my freshman year of college. I walked through several things I had learned, and wrote about the things I anticipated for my sophomore year. Now that year has come and gone. It exceeded and subverted my expectations in bizarre and wonderful ways. Sophomore year was one of the craziest, longest, best, hardest, most challenging, and most rewarding years of my life. It was filled with new opportunities, times of growth, tough lessons, wonderful people, and memories I will cherish always.

 

I went into sophomore year figuring that I had learned the lessons I needed to learn. Freshman year had been awesome, though tough, and I was ready to tackle what year 2 had in store. I was on Orientation Board, ready to impart my “wisdom” to the freshmen. I look back and almost laugh because I realize I didn’t have much figured out–and I recognize now that I still don’t. Orientation Board was an amazing and life-changing experience: two(ish) weeks of intense service of others, bonding with friends and fellow workers, forming life-long relationships. I learned so much about myself and about work during those weeks. From that experience blossomed some of my most treasured friendships, and OB provided a solid and exciting foundation for my sophomore year.

 

As the year went on, my schedule grew swollen and my spare time grew short. I knew that I was busy, even busier than I had been as a freshman, but, for some reason, I rarely felt as stressed as I had then. I took this to mean that I was doing fine, that I could handle more on my plate. I accepted many responsibilities. Probably more than I should’ve. The first semester was full, in all senses of the word. Full of love and friendship. Full of hard work and service. Full of homework and responsibilities. I was more than ready for Christmas Break, and after it, going into the second semester, I was again excited.

 

This past spring semester was one of the most life-changing periods of my life. I think I learned more in those four-and-a-half months than I have in all of college combined. These past months held the climax of many lessons that had been building slowly. All those threads in my life and in my growth came together, forming new patterns, working themselves out. Some questions were answered, some lessons learned, while other questions were asked and other lessons set up.

 

Sitting down now, I’m trying to distill into clear words what I learned this year. There is so much, and many of the lessons aren’t unique to me. The importance of rest, of good relationships, of good study habits and self care and time spent in prayer. But there were some lessons that felt personal, things I knew I needed to learn.

 

I learned–or rather, was reminded of–the power of empathy and listening. Everyone is dealing with things we cannot see and that we won’t know if we don’t take the time to listen. I saw this powerfully when I was serving in Los Angeles for a mission trip. Talking with the people we served proved to be more powerful (for myself and them) than any act of physical service. Love is shown through a listening ear, through an empathetic smile and a kind word.

 

I learned the importance of being focused. This year I spread myself very thin–too thin–to the point of exhaustion. At one point, I think I was involved in upwards of 6 extracurriculars, on top of 16 credits and a social life. Though I loved being involved, I finally had to confront the fact that I was involved for the sake of being involved. Our time is God’s. It is a gift, and one we are to steward in such a way that honors Him. I realized that me wrecking my mental and physical state to do a dozen things did not honor God. I aimed to be more focused, and realized that, organically over the months, a focus had grown from all of my activities: ministry, specifically related to mentorship on campus. It is with this focus that I intend to go into my next year.

 

Related to this, I learned the joy that is found in pursuing what you love. When I finally shed certain responsibilities I had taken on simply because I thought I had to, I had more time to focus on what I loved. Whether that was writing, or grabbing coffee with a friend and being present, or listening to music. I was blessed with opportunities to do what I loved, and I found so much joy in that. With this, I learned the importance of having a hobby. This might sound cheesy, but I found that it is super important to do something you love simply because you love it. Not because you have to or because you’re getting a grade. I found (to my surprise) that my hobby was becoming writing poetry.

 

I learned that God created a world that is beautiful and we must rejoice for it, and weep when we see its brokenness. This year I saw so much beauty. Whether that was in the natural world, or in friendship, or in worship, or in prayer, I had glimpses of the world as it is meant to be (or as close as we can see on this side of heaven). I also saw the world in its brokenness. In my own heart, in the places where I served, in relationships. I learned that it is okay to grieve that brokenness, and that this grief should be a reminder that things are not right, and that God has called us to be examples of people striving to follow Him regardless of the world. It was also a beautiful reminder that Christ has washed us clean of this brokenness. We have been redeemed from it. Made new, and beautiful again.

 

I learned to cherish the people around me, and that sometimes a few tight-knit relationships are more valuable than a dozen shallower ones, but all have their place. At different stages of our life, we have different relational needs. Freshman year I discovered my extroversion, and developed many friends. I learned I love investing in people, but I also learned that I tend to idolize relationships. I realized this year that I was investing myself in so many relationships that I couldn’t truly invest in them. My focus was scattered, and I had to, at times, pick my people.

 

Near the end of the semester, a wise friend of mine gave me some advice about relationships and investing in people. He used the analogy of Jesus. Christ had his 5,000 followers. Those to whom he preached. He had the 72 he sent out. Then he had the 12 in whom he invested deeply. Within that he had 3, his most trusted circle. And then there was the 1, John, the disciple Jesus loved. Obviously, we’re not Jesus, and if we start to think of ourselves as the “Jesus” of our friend group, that’s problematic, but what my friend was suggesting was that we needed different levels of friendship. We needed acquaintances, but we also needed close friends, and best friends, and then those brothers and sisters in Christ we trust above anyone else. This was very convicting as I realized my relational focus had grown muddled. There were times I treated a close friend like an acquaintance, or pulled away from a relationship with an acquaintance because I knew they would never be a close friend. I tried to reorient my perspective, to focus on those people I knew I loved. Those relationships that are rich and life-giving. I know that I can now treasure each relationship for its individual value. Not every friend must be a close friend. Acquaintances are just as beautiful, and because of that I can cherish each person, and lean into the relationships that are the most mutually fulfilling.

 

This year, I drew close to several new people, placed in my life just when God knew I would need them. Some I served alongside on OB or in Los Angeles. Others were members of the housing group I joined. Many were seniors, and poured into my life when they did not have to. From this comes the final lesson I learned this year: goodbye’s are hard. At the end of my freshman year, saying goodbye to my friends was difficult, but we knew that (mostly) we’d be seeing each other in three months. This past week, saying goodbye to certain friends who were graduating, I realized that I didn’t know when I would see them again. Some of them I know I’ll see soon, but even so, the proximity aspect of these relationships are over. In my shortsightedness, it feels to me that they were cut too short, but I know that these people were in my life–and I in theirs–for the right amount of time. Even so, that doesn’t make goodbye’s any easier. A part of me will always wish for one more coffee with these people, one more meal in the cafeteria, one more movie night, one more walk around the Quad. But goodbye’s are a part of college (of life) and growth comes with them. This pain I felt, the melancholy of a “see you later” when you don’t know when later will be, reminded me again that I have two years left at Grove, and this encouraged me to keep in mind these other lessons I learned as I go into my future at Grove City–

 

To love those around me in the two years I have left. To lean into those relationships that produce fruit. To seek to serve God in everything I do. To rest. To encourage others to rest. To remember that I can’t carry my burdens alone, and neither can anyone else.

 

I have the blessing of being home for a bit before I go to work at a summer camp, returning to Los Angeles for a short time. I’m super stoked about that. But also ready for these few weeks of rest. Before I know it, my junior year will be here. I’ll no longer be a teenager (which is also super odd) and I’ll be into my third year of college. I don’t know what next year has in store, but I think I’ve learned by now I’ll never finish “figuring it out” and there will always be new convicting lessons to learn. I’m excited for that.

 

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Art as Growth

It’s finals week at Grove City and I should PROBABLY be studying for my Biology Final. But I’m taking a short study break and I decided to write this post I’ve been thinking about for a few days. A conversation with my roommate inspired this–we were talking about art. Specifically, our art.
My roommate and I have similar stories of our art. He’s a musician, I’m a writer. We both put out works (him: songs, me: stories ) when we were younger and now, as we’re both about to enter our twenties, we must decide what to do with those older pieces. Do we take them down, hide them, try to forget about them? Do we leave them there and cautiously promote them?
This was a question I wrestled with for a long time. I published my first book when I was 16 years old. I’m very self-conscious now of this book. It’s not great literature by any sense of the word. The plot and characters are shaky at best. Even so, I’m proud of it. For a while, it embarrassed me, but then I had to recognize that this book reflects my writing abilities as a 14/15-year-old. It shows where I started, and what I write now shows my growth.
Art is beautiful for many reasons, but this is one of them. It can reveal the growth of the artist. It shows how their beliefs have changed, or how they’ve matured, or how they’ve found love, or gone through a hard time. And this is all art–writing, painting, music, sculpting, acting, poetry, etc. Very few things paint as vulnerable a picture of a person as their art. Re-reading some of my old writings, and then reading what I’ve written recently, it’s easy for me to see how I’ve grown. I’ve been conscious of some of that growth, and blind to it in other ways. Some of it was so gradual that I didn’t notice it until it happened, and some of it I noticed because it came about from specific experiences or events.
I’m excited to see how my writing continues to develop, and I look forward to the day I can read my current stories and see how I’ve grown. Speaking of current stories! Soon I’ll be releasing new information about an upcoming novel. A mystery campus novel, it follows two young college students in a world of academic intrigue and, no, it’s not inspired by a true story. I’ll release the tentative title soon!
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The Importance of Rest

It’s mid October (my favorite month) and I’m already approaching fall break of my sophomore year, and it’s hitting me how fast time is going. Last night, I was talking to a friend of mine, a guy I met this year, and we realized that we’ve already been at school for almost two months. In some ways it feels like it’s been two years and in some ways like it’s been only two weeks. You’d think that this wouldn’t surprise me anymore, but it does still.
 
Sophomore year has been a good year. Generally when people ask me how I’m doing my first response is “thriving.” Then, if I have time, I give them a more detailed explanation. I’m only joking a little when I say that I feel like I’m thriving. This has been a good year so far, one blessed by God. He has shown me areas where I can serve, blessed me with mentors and with people whom I can mentor, and given me a renewed sense of security in the direction my life is taking.
 
Sophomore year has also been a busy year. It’s one where I’ve accepted several responsibilities. Initially I accepted more than I should have (something I’ve always struggled with). But, as I’ve had to learn time and time again, it’s better to invest a lot in a few things than, than invest a little in many things. I dropped some commitments about which I wasn’t passionate, so that I could focus more on the areas where I think God is really calling me.
 
Something I’ve tried to do this year is invest in relationships, and that has led to so much growth in my life. Last week I sat down for coffee with a new friend, and our conversation turned to the topic of rest, and how as college students we don’t get enough of it. Both of us have found ourselves doing things from the moment we get up until the moment we go to bed, without taking any time between to rest.
 
Rest is so important, and yet it’s something I rarely find myself making a priority. Even though I don’t see the immediate signs of it in my life, I know that it isn’t healthy. Even when I feel like I can be constantly going from 7:00 a.m. until 11:00 p.m. (or 1:00 a.m., depending on the day), I know that I can’t. And I know that I shouldn’t. I need to take time to rest, and that’s something I’ve been trying to do.
 
During my Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule, I have a four-hour block between classes. Typically I have used that time to finish up my homework for my French class, but this past week I’ve tried to use that time to “rest” in some way. And that’s looked different each day. Some days, it means cleaning my room. Others, it’s taking a long shower now that the weather is cold enough to actually enjoy the perpetual hot water in our dorm. Others, it’s taking an hour to dive deeper into my devotions, or read a book, or listen to music, or (rarely) take an actual nap.
Honestly, this has been one of my most productive weeks. Taking that intentional time to rest and recenter means that I can apply myself better when I decide to work (or, at least, I feel guiltier when I don’t work hard during the times I should). I’ve also been getting to bed earlier, which is great.
I’ve been reminded this week, through conversations, personal reflection, and through a very convicting Vespers service by our Interim Dean of Chapel, that we are made as creatures who require rest, proper rest, and that to not take time to rest in the LORD is, frankly, sinful. This time of rest, of slowing down and pausing during my day, reminds me to appreciate God in all His glory and in all areas.  I’ve also had to wrestle with the difference between rest and laziness. Often I have to remind myself that sprawling on my bed with Instagram and Netflix is not rest. It’s more like slothfulness. I have to make sure that with my rest, I’m doing my best to honor the LORD just as much as I try to honor Him with my actions. It’s not something I’ve fully figured out yet (it’s probably one of those things you never quite figure out) but it’s something I’ve enjoyed wrestling with, and I hope that I’ve grown because of it.