When we realize that worship isn't just music...

When we realize that worship isn't just music...

It matters less how loud everyone sings, and the words we sing matter more.

Babies screaming and clapping aren't a disruption.

Fumbling fingers don't mean failure.

The woman who can't carry a tune in a bucket is less annoying.

A shaky voice isn't imperfect.

We appreciate beauty more.

Our hearts can be vulnerable.

We can dance like David and be unashamed.

We can express ourselves, doing what we do best for our King.

When we realize that worship isn't just music, leaders are born. Because it's no longer about who has the nicest voice, but who can lead an army into battle.

We become more humble.

We see that children, even when they don't "understand" all the words, can be the most honest worshippers of all.

We let go of pride.

Competition ceases.

His voice becomes more clear.

It becomes less about anyone else and more about you, or me, and God.

wonder

I want 2015 to be a year of wonder. 

Maybe that's my "word" this year. 

Last year it was Delight. 

Anne exemplifies wonder so well:

"Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive--it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be half so interesting if we knew all about everything, would it?"

Guys, God is *so* faithful. 

When I think of all the ways He's revealed Himself to me this year and all the years before, it blows my mind to think that there are still thousands of things to discover and endless more reasons to fall in love with Him. 

When I think of everything I'm going to learn and find out about this year, I feel nervous and ecstatic.

How is He going to stretch and grow me? How is He going to show me He loves me? Where will He take me?

In school I'm going to learn how to start an IV on someone. What medications do what and what to give someone that could save their life. How the body fights when it's hurt. How babies grow and how to take care of their mothers. How to carry someone through the last days of their life. How to protect their first days. 

But I'm also going to learn about myself. How much I can take. What my "thing" is. (apparently every nurse has a "thing" they can't handle) 

Who I am, deeper than I've known up till now. What my purpose is. Where I fit. Where I don't. 

But this year will not hold all of the answers. I might become a nurse this year, but I won't learn everything there is to know about nursing. 

I might learn 10,000 things about God's character, but I won't come anywhere near seeing all of His glory.

I might have revelation after revelation about who I am, but I'll change and have to start over again and again. 

Through all my finding out, I never want to lose my wonder - or my desire to keep finding out. I never want to reach satisfaction in my knowledge. 

It's going to be a good year, full of finding out and full of wonder at who my God is, who He created me to be, and where He's placed me.

And I cannot wait. 

"Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive." - L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables.

it's who i am

I've had a theme song lately that's been shaping how I see myself.

I finished my last exam today and I did well, but man... These past couple weeks have been *hard*.

Maybe you could tell by my last post... I've been struggling with a cloud of inadequacy hanging over me.

So, this has been on repeat. Drilling into my head that I have a good, good Father.

And I?
I am *loved by Him*.
It's *who I am*.

Not only am I loved by Him, but His love is my *identity*.

How can I be inadequate when loved is who I am?

There's something else I've been chewing on something since starting school and that is - so many people go through life CHOOSING to believe that they just "happened".
Even through all my feelings of inadequacy, I never doubted that I had a purpose. I just felt like maybe I've been missing it or I haven't found it yet. That my purpose wasn't what I thought it was.

But I was never purposeless.

So this morning, I got up before the sun and headed out to my bus stop for the last time this semester.
I got on the bus and plugged in my earphones. The bus, however loud and noisy it is, has been a place where a substantial amount of my "me and Jesus" time has happened over the past few months.

I'm forced to sit still for an hour, sometimes more, each way to and from school.
Earphones in. Eyes shut. "Speak to me, Father."

But today, as this song started playing... I knew that it was who *I* am...

But my mind wandered to the man sitting across from me and the people all around me...

Loved isn't just who I am... Loved is who he is, too.

Does he know who he is? What about the woman behind him? Does she?

Or are they choosing to live purposeless?

In Prince Caspian, Aslan says, "you doubt your value. Do not run from who you are."

The world is running from who they are.
But will any amount of running ever change your identity? Or your value? Or your purpose?
I would say not.

When something *is* who you are down to your very core, you can't do anything to stop it.

That's why so many people live unsatisfied and discontented.
They refuse to find and embrace who they are. They're still running. Doubting.

And that's why you can tell me as many times as you want that I'm crazy or stupid or delusional, or put all your energy into trying to convince me that God doesn't exist and I'll still have a twinkle in my eye and confidence in my heart.

It makes laughter bubble up inside of me because I know who I am. And no matter what you believe, I know who you are, too.

I am loved, and so are you.

It's who I am. It's who you are. It's who we are.

We can choose to take that and run with it, or choose to leave it and run from it.

The choice is simple, isn't it?

Don't doubt your value, don't run from who you are.

You are loved by a good, good Father.

*It's who you are.*

falling short - my strength in life.

At the beginning of the semester, I was confident that I could change the world. 

Now, I'm not so sure. 

I've worked and worked and worked only to be looked over. 
My thoughts don't matter. My opinions don't matter. 

I'm not smart enough, wise enough, generous enough, loving enough, kind enough, charismatic enough, joyful enough, peaceful enough, patient enough, gentle enough.

Good enough.

How could *I* change the world, when I can't get a single person to truly *hear* me. 

When I don't get A+ on my finals. 
When she's the most generous person in the world. 
When he is wiser. 
When everyone likes him, and she's always so friendly and kind. 

I snapped this week. 

I let my heart open up and let in self doubt, jealousy, resentment...

But how can I change the world like that? Obviously I can't.

Teach me, Father.

Teach me to be generous. Teach me to love. Help me be kind. 
If You want me to use my voice, give me a platform so I can shout Your name to the world. 
Give me patience. Give me joy. Show me how to be gentle. Grant me wisdom.

I can't be smart, wise, generous, loving, kind, charismatic, joyful, peaceful, patient or gentle. Not on my own. 

But then I remember. And it's like a weight is lifted off my shoulders and the sun breaks through my storm cloud. 

I am *not* those things. 
But *HE* is. 

My strength in life is that *I am His*. 

He's the one who gives wisdom, joy and peace. He is the perfect example of love, patience and gentleness. 

And my soul delights, because *I am His*. 

"And this is the secret: Christ lives in you. This gives you assurance of sharing his glory."
Colossians 1:27

He lives in me and because of that, I can be wiser. I can love. I can be patient. I can have peace. I can be generous. I can be kind. I can have joy. I can be gentle. 

I'm alive to bring Him glory. His will on earth is all I'm living for. 

All I have to do is let go of myself and let Him work through me. I can change the world.

Because He's good

I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I tried at first. After all, I was leading a group of about forty kids... Looking away from one for a moment shouldn't be too hard.
And then I got to my second last song.

A song about the goodness of God.

I started playing, queuing my brother who was drumming along, laughing at my friends and sisters dancing... and just as I started singing, she caught my eye again.
"I sing because You are good"

Her face broke into the biggest smile you can imagine as she threw her arms in the air, motioning the sound of song being projected from her mouth.
I smiled at her enthusiasm. As a worship leader, I try to create that excitement, and "success" is sweet every time.

"And I dance because You are good"

The smile I thought couldn't get any bigger expands as she spins and stomps her feet waving her hands with abandon.

"I shout because You are good; You are good to me"

Her shout of "yeah!" Is interrupted by the laughter that bubbles up and spills out and I don't try to take my eyes off of her anymore. My fingers are familiar with the chord pattern and the lyrics are ingrained into my mind... so my lyrics and chord sheet sit, unwatched on the music stand as I turn all my attention on her with interest.

When I get to the bridge, my voice chokes as I sing, and she sings with me, "with a cry of praise my heart will proclaim that You are good, You are good. In the sun or rain my life celebrates that You are good."

How many of us truly live our lives as a celebration of Gods goodness?

I saw an article the other day titled, "God may not have a wonderful plan for your life".
And I beg to differ.

God is good. All the time.

And He has a wonderful, yes wonderful, plan for your life.

Even if the wonderful plan doesn't mean a constantly wonderful existence.

We teach in Sunday school nearly every week about a "big picture".

I think we do that because life sucks sometimes, but there's always a wonderful "big picture".

And little P, she has a much less than wonderful existence a lot of the time. I've seen her frustrated because I didn't know what she wanted and she can't communicate with me the way she wants to. Countless doctors appointments...
That's not wonderful.

But still, in that moment, her life was a celebration of His goodness in a way I only hope mine is.

Healing

"Healing is a journey, rather than a destination, and it is a process more than an epiphany. .... characterize healing by contrasting it with wounding. On a quality-of-life continuum, being in a healed state is at a pole marked by an experience of wholeness and personal integrity. Being wounded is situated at the opposite pole and represents an experience of suffering and anguish. Healing is associated with the following perspectives: a sense of connection to self, others, and a phenomenal world (ie, a world experienced through the senses); an ability to derive meaning in the context of suffering; a capacity to find peace in the present moment; a nonadversarial connection to the disease process; and the ability to relinquish the need for control. Wounding is a movement in opposite directions. Suffering is fundamentally a sense of one’s own disintegration, of loss of control to prevent that, and an experience of meaninglessness. By counteracting those perceptions, a person can be helped on a healing trajectory, even as death approaches. Healing interventions are always possible. One can die healed. As a consequence, the phrase, “There is nothing more that I can do for you,” has no place in medicine."
(Boudreau and Somerville, 2014)

The only time I want to be the pessimistic character.

Sometimes I write. 
And other times I realize that someone else has already written, and done a better job than I could have, what my heart feels. 
It's no secret that I love C.S Lewis. 
Enjoy this excerpt that randomly popped into my head and nearly made me cry on the bus this afternoon. (Taken from chapter 12 of The Silver Chair)

I want to be a Puddleglum.

"I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia"
----------------------------------

"Madam," said the Prince sternly, "I have already told your Grace that I am the King's son of Narnia." 

"And shalt be, dear friend," said the Witch in a soothing voice, as if she was humouring a child, "shalt be king of many imagined lands in thy fancies." 

"We've been there, too," snapped Jill. She was very angry because she could feel enchantment getting hold of her every moment. But of course the very fact that she could still feel it, showed that it had not yet fully worked. 

....

"No. I suppose that other world must be all a dream." 

"Yes. It is all a dream," said the Witch, always thrumming. 

"Yes, all a dream," said Jill. 

"There never was such a world," said the Witch. 

"No," said Jill and Scrubb, "never was such a world." 

"There never was any world but mine," said the Witch. 

"There never was any world but yours," said they. 

Puddleglum was still fighting hard. "I don't know rightly what you all mean by a world," he said, talking like a man who hasn't enough air. "But you can play that fiddle till your fingers drop off, and still you won't make me forget Narnia; and the whole Overworld too. We'll never see it again, I shouldn't wonder. You may have blotted it out and turned it dark like this, for all I know. Nothing more likely. But I know I was there once. I've seen the sky full of stars. I've seen the sun coming up out of the sea of a morning and sinking behind the mountains at night. And I've seen him up in the midday sky when I couldn't look at him for brightness." 

Puddleglum's words had a very rousing effect. The other three all breathed again and looked at one another like people newly awaked. 

"Why, there it is!" cried the Prince. "Of course! The blessing of Aslan upon this honest Marsh-wiggle. We have all been dreaming, these last few minutes. How could we have forgotten it? Of course we've all seen the sun." 

"By Jove, so we have!" said Scrubb. "Good for you, Puddleglum! You're the only one of us with any sense, I do believe." 

Then came the Witch's voice, cooing softly like the voice of a wood-pigeon from the high elms in an old garden at three o'clock in the middle of a sleepy, summer afternoon; and it said: 

"What is this sun that you all speak of? Do you mean anything by the word?" 

"Yes, we jolly well do," said Scrubb. 

"Can you tell me what it's like?" asked the Witch (thrum, thrum, thrum, went the strings). 

"Please it your Grace," said the Prince, very coldly and politely. "You see that lamp. It is round and yellow and gives light to the whole room; and hangeth moreover from the roof. Now that thing which we call the sun is like the lamp, only far greater and brighter. It giveth light to the whole Overworld and hangeth in the sky." 

"Hangeth from what, my lord?" asked the Witch; and then, while they were all still thinking how to answer her, she added, with another of her soft, silver laughs: "You see? When you try to think out clearly what this sun must be, you cannot tell me. You can only tell me it is like the lamp. Your sun is a dream; and there is nothing in that dream that was not copied from the lamp. The lamp is the real thing; the sun is but a tale, a children's story." 

"Yes, I see now," said Jill in a heavy, hopeless tone. "It must be so." And while she said this, it seemed to her to be very good sense. 

Slowly and gravely the Witch repeated, "There is no sun." And they all said nothing. She repeated, in a softer and deeper voice. "There is no sun." After a pause, and after a struggle in their minds, all four of them said together. "You are right. There is no sun." It was such a relief to give in and say it. 

"There never was a sun," said the Witch. 

"No. There never was a sun," said the Prince, and the Marsh-wiggle, and the children. 

For the last few minutes Jill had been feeling that there was something she must remember at all costs. And now she did. But it was dreadfully hard to say it. She felt as if huge weights were laid on her lips. At last, with an effort that seemed to take all the good out of her, she said: 

"There's Aslan." 

"Aslan?" said the Witch, quickening ever so slightly the pace of her thrumming. "What a pretty name! What does it mean?" 

"He is the great Lion who called us out of our own world," said Scrubb, "and sent us into this to find Prince Rilian." 

"What is a lion?" asked the Witch. 

"Oh, hang it all!" said Scrubb. "Don't you know? How can we describe it to her? Have you ever seen a cat?" 

"Surely," said the Queen. "I love cats." 

"Well, a lion is a little bit - only a little bit, mind you like a huge cat - with a mane. At least, it's not like a horse's mane, you know, it's more like a judge's wig. And it's yellow. And terrifically strong." 

The Witch shook her head. "I see," she said, "that we should do no better with your lion, as you call it, than we did with your sun. You have seen lamps, and so you imagined a bigger and better lamp and called it the sun. You've seen cats, and now you want a bigger and better cat, and it's to be called a lion. Well, 'tis a pretty makebelieve, though, to say truth, it would suit you all better if you were younger. And look how you can put nothing into your make-believe without copying it from the real world, this world of mine, which is the only world. But even you children are too old for such play. As for you, my lord Prince, that art a man full grown, fie upon you! Are you not ashamed of such toys? Come, all of you. Put away these childish tricks. I have work for you all in the real world. There is no Narnia, no Overworld, no sky, no sun, no Aslan. And now, to bed all. And let us begin a wiser life tomorrow. But, first, to bed; to sleep; deep sleep, soft pillows, sleep without foolish dreams." 

The Prince and the two children were standing with their heads hung down, their cheeks flushed, their eyes half closed; the strength all gone from them; the enchantment almost complete. But Puddleglum, desperately gathering all his strength, walked over to the fire. Then he did a very brave thing. He knew it wouldn't hurt him quite as much as it would hurt a human; for his feet (which were bare) were webbed and hard and coldblooded like a duck's. But he knew it would hurt him badly enough; and so it did. With his bare foot he stamped on the fire, grinding a large part of it into ashes on the flat hearth. And three things happened at once. 

First, the sweet heavy smell grew very much less. For though the whole fire had not been put out, a good bit of it had, and what remained smelled very largely of burnt Marsh- wiggle, which is not at all an enchanting smell. This instantly made everyone's brain far clearer. The Prince and the children held up their heads again and opened their eyes. 

Secondly, the Witch, in a loud, terrible voice, utterly different from all the sweet tones she had been using up till now, called out, "What are you doing? Dare to touch my fire again, mud-filth, and I'll turn the blood to fire inside your veins." 

Thirdly, the pain itself made Puddleglum's head for a moment perfectly clear and he knew exactly what he really thought. There is nothing like a good shock of pain for dissolving certain kinds of magic. 

"One word, Ma'am," he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. "One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things - trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a playworld which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say."