The Road Leads Ever On...

The road leads ever on…

That’s a line from one of the greatest novels ever written (give it up for Tolkien!) and the truth of my life.

I have wandered far, seen much and been permitted (at times) to come back home. But always with the intention of going back out again. This life I live, may it be permitted to let Him be known. May it be one in which His full intentions are executed. May it be one where I am found ever wanting and he is found ever sufficient. May the dreams that take His heart captive mine as well. May I find that it truly is better to be a gatekeeper in the house of my God…

Gatekeeper. This word is becoming especially precious to me. In the original context, a gatekeeper stood at attention, watching all those who came into the city. The word has been used for mothers (what will you permit to be brought into your home?) and I feel that this season—and the place that I have been filling—has had the beginnings of fulfilling this role.

I cooked—all summer. I lived with kids (everyone is a kid to me—substitute “college age students” here) and, as one of the oldest, was a part of creating our culture. Culture is a tricky thing—in homes, on continents, in bars and Starbucks and at sporting events, refugee camps. Culture is the way that we choose to conduct ourselves, the foods we eat, the way we gather in community, the clothes we wear, the words we use, the gestures we make with our hands. In every day, in every way, you are a huge part of your culture: whether you are actively rebelling against it and trying to get out from under its influence or blissfully unaware of its impact on you, culture is having its effect on you.

Then steps in Kingdom. This strange word, reminiscent of knights and adventures with flashing swords, calls for something deeper, higher, purer than culture. Kingdom is that which our Lord, Jesus Christ, asks us to step into. He told us, in His very beginnings, that it was “coming”. Then it was declared that the Kingdom of God was “within us”. It is almost as if we, as Christians, bear in our bodies that which both defies and rises up above culture: if we allow it.

Back to being a Gatekeeper: it is true that culture can define us, but truer still that we were made for the Kingdom. We were called to be under its influence, bringing it to bear in every area of our lives; thus changing the ways we dress, talk, eat and interact with one another to such an extent that we would be “known by our love”. A gatekeeper (the word which is coming alive for me) is one who oversees that which comes in or out, whether the gate they be guarding is a home, church or organization. If anything which conflicts with or does not move forward the ventures and goals of the group of people or home—or anything which hampers said group—attempts to infiltrate, the gatekeeper is the one who is called on to be aware and impede the progress of said antagonistic force. They are the ones who are aware of what is going on around their group to such an extent that those inside, under their protection, are able to be blissfully unaware.

Leaders are gatekeepers. They have been given vision, assembled a team and started to move forward in the direction which seems right. Those under their care have a say and create part of the culture that moves the movement forward—but they are guarded in such a way that many of the battles which are fought on their behalf, for their welfare, are unknown to them. They are safe, protected and endure through every attempt at attack because of the vigilance of their gatekeepers.

I have seen this in part at Camp Oakhurst. I have gotten to stand beside and behind some of the best souls on the planet (I don’t know how I’m going to leave them in two weeks!) and learned how to fight for them, and they for me. We have had hospital visits (including my own!), tiring days, grumpy attitudes and the unique opportunity to try to understand one another’s stories. We have danced together (yay kitchen crew!), laughed together, cried, got mad at one another and endured one another’s slights. But in the end, we created a culture where celebration, gratitude and teamwork were our first priority. Even when (well, every day when) the job was mundane, we managed to sprinkle it with laughter and fun amidst the drudgery…until it wasn’t a drudgery anymore because we had learned to serve one another.

I am indebted to these college age kids because of their profound ability to love one who was ‘different’—where I could have been the outsider, they took me in whole-heartedly. I have found, over and over again in my life, that the place where I feel “out of place” (who works at a summer camp at 27 years old? Or does YWAM at 26?) becomes “just the right place” when I follow His lead. I spent my summer in a kitchen and enjoyed (almost) every moment. And it was never because I necessarily enjoy cooking (it’s not like cooking when you cook for 150 people…it’s like making large troughs of food look delicious…it takes even less skill than you can imagine!) but always because of the people.

Always because of the people: the ones who want to link arms with you, dance with you, always tell you to go to bed (that was our first catchphrase and is still repeated far too much for my liking!!! Haha, but when you wake up at 5:30 am, you really should go to bed early!), and check in with you to make sure you’re okay. I am grateful for hugs, big laughs, Savage Brothers and Quakers Wives. I am excited to continue to follow all of their journeys and indebted (always indebted) to their willingness to create the culture that we have:

It is beautiful.

It allows for life to be a mess sometimes.

It lets others be heard.

It seeks to understand before it is understood.

It reflects Kingdom, however imperfectly, through the way we have chosen to love.

Two weeks left.

This season has been a much needed time of rest and as such, it reminds me that I have not journeyed far at all along the road that leads toward being a “gatekeeper” and “leader”. I am thrilled and excited to learn and grow in a new context, with people I barely know who love Him. I pray He binds us together in love as we create our culture and I thank God for the lessons learned here that I get to carry forward with them.

Keep seeking the Lord’s face and direction for me: He is good!

And He wants to make that known throughout the whole earth…

Venu and Kavia

I wish I could transport you to India through my eyes—but just as you are able only to watch a love story (until you’re in the middle of one!)—I can only make India as real to you as my stories let me. But there is power in this—knowing another’s story—and I invite you in warmly.

India makes me think of joy, because that is what the Lord carries over them. He sees them, as they are, and loves them just there. I am one who often forgets grace and certain cities evoked that feeling—being in New Delhi was especially hard for me because of the striving atmosphere present there—but as I walked with the Lord through His country, I was overwhelmed by His love for them.

Venu and Kavia best describe India’s beauty for me and her longings. Venu was a shopkeeper—beautician by trade—and Kavia was her little daughter. They spoke English well and in the hour and a half that we spent in their shop getting henna done they became our friends. They went so far as to invite us to their home the next day.

Their house was out in the country, a swaying bus ride away. Indian music—how I love and miss that happy jangle—made up just a part of the cacophony that is an Indian bus: overcrowded seats, collecting of rupees from passengers as we were moving, the whistles and beeps issuing from the worker’s mouths, each indicating to the driver a different signal: “time to close the doors”, “get this bus moving”, “stop, someone wants to get off”.

The place where we finally stopped had a magnificent view: their house overlooks a deep valley, filled with tea and other crops. They invited us in, (“shoes off, please”) and the fun began. We were given a tour of the house, introduced to all of Kavia’s stuffed animals, met her older brother and then discussed all sorts of topics, from the components of our two religions to what school systems were like in India. All the while Venu, just home from work, was preparing our meal. She brought her cooking into the same room we were in, just wanting to be with us.

The evening was filled with the joy of just loving being together. We learned their story in great detail, especially why Kavia, a ten-year-old wanted to be a neurosurgeon someday. Before she was born, her mother (Venu) and father, a mechanic we met that day, were in a motorcycle accident that nearly cost him his life. Kavia has grown up wanting to become one of those who can perform such surgeries and save others as her dad was saved. This bright, sassy kid (she spoke perfect English and knew just how to joke around in it—a sign of intelligence, to be witty, especially in your second language) will no doubt become exactly what she imagines.

We had more fun and learned more from each other than any government would allow. It was late at night by the time Venu ushered us up the road to catch the next bus. Her last words to us were, “I’ve never felt so loved.”

I have travelled the world longing for that praise to be reminiscent of me, but always for the wrong reasons. A human wants praise, recognition, for someone to look at them and see their ‘worth’…except it doesn’t work. You can never get enough from a human, not matter how hard you try; and I have seen the truth of this time and time again. A heart set on filling the longing will always fall short when it tries to find its issue from an unkempt source. And a human heart is unkempt, bereft, it wanders of its own trying to fulfill itself and muddying its own water with desires. We cannot find what we need within ourselves.

But God: God is something else. God sees us, where we are, and loves. Loves, though our water is muddy. Loves, though our motives are impure. Loves, though it kills Him daily to see the pain we bring on one another. Loves, though even when the wisest among us would say it is not worth it.

Love, love that issues from God, is something more than our minds can grasp. It is, in itself, actually unearthly. It has no origin originating here and therefore breaks up all our dispensations toward itself. It is the unseen other that was put in bodily form in Jesus Christ.

And when you, there, are operating out of love: finding in Him all that you needed to get by—and even more, which you can freely give away—the world notices. They sit up for a minute, glance at you, then back down at whatever was troubling them. But then it happens again, this blip on the radar screen that is unmistakable: what was that? They have to stop, take off the glasses of self-defeat and wonder for a moment: what could that have been? Could that be for me?  If it happens often enough in a life—and that person takes the hint and gives up trying to make sense of God and just starts to want to know Him: the miracle happens. They get swept up into His love too.

            I am praying for that for Venu and Kavia—we go to spend the last few days of our time in a town in South India called Ooty with these precious ones—and they, raised into a system which tells them there are many gods and gives them rituals to follow, glimpsed grace and love in us, something they had been looking for without knowing it. I don’t know the end of their story, only to pray for them. I did get to, in the brief beautiful moments that I was given, love them as Jesus loves me—so unreservedly. And we all were changed by it.

If I have learned anything from going to India, it’s that grace is a powerful, beautiful, living thing. I glimpsed Jesus working in and through me even in the midst of my pain and mess—He let His name be known, His purposes accomplished, His glory shining, His love which overflowed. As the India government clamps down on followers of the way and anything having to do with the name of Christ—as those who work under His name continue to be uprooted from that country, pray. They, the Indian church, are stronger than they know—this I saw, travelling among them. Pray that they lean into Christ as their source—they and I are on the journey of learning just how good He is, how able. I pray that we, as a body which encircles the globe, will be grateful for the goodness of our God and continue to seek it, in whatever circumstances we find ourselves in.

He can lead us through anything. Pray and usher Him—and all His purposes, as we yield—in.

Just a Little Something

It’s funny, the things that consume you…

I’ve been struggling with thinking through how to fundraise/not knowing who to fundraise through…living as a missionary even while I’m in the States…juts relationships altogether…these are the things that have been taking up my time and focus—or they want to be.

But there’s this other side where I just get to be His kid. He’s the Daddy. I’m the Daughter. And no matter what the last seasons have held or the upcoming one contains—I live out of this simple fact: I’m just His. So no matter what other people think or how small I feel when I look at my budget—however little or much He gives me in the next season, this I know: it is well with my soul. And I don’t want it any other way.

The thing I keep hearing from people who I run into lately (sorry, had a bit of a hermit life up on a mountain there for the last month) is that I come to mind. That’s all Him. I know God has things He wants to do. So whether you believe or not in the little dreams He has given me, I keep moving forward. And it is well…with my soul…

I hope it’s a Happy 4^th! It’s the only holiday I’ll get with my family this year—fireworks, come on! Know that God celebrates you and takes care of all the details of your life. He is good.