Superficiality is the curse of our age. . . . The desperate need today is not for a greater number of intelligent people, or gifted people, but for deep people.
- Richard Foster
I went deep this weekend - deep into my weakness, which means deep into my strength. Deep into Christ.
I was a prayer servant on a Marked Men for Christ (MMFC) weekend. I came alongside 60 weary men seeking life; a life fully lived, not a shadow life. They sought forgiveness for their sins, strength to change, wisdom and discernment to act. They sought healing because they are wounded men, as we all are wounded - by fear, anger, sorrow, shame and deceit.
These men revealed their wounds, and I prayed for them. They spoke using words that I used - words of loathing and hopelessness. They spoke with words I still use - words of longing and fear, hope and praise, confusion and gratefulness. I helped carry their burdens and felt divine power flowing through my body.
I am not strong enough to handle my own problems, let alone someone else's, but I came alongside and walked with these men anyway. I reflected Christ to them. I looked deeply into their eyes, in their weakest moment, and lived my mission. I was strong. I encouraged and accepted them. I did not judge the tears or the sin, because I know the transcendent peace delivered through weak men, strong in Christ. I've been there. I am there. I've confessed. I own my sins and experience Christ with my band of brothers - the men who hold me accountable as a Christian.
I went deep into my weakness this weekend. I had to overcome my self-absorption. I ran the gauntlet of my sin and waded the river of forgiveness, flowing with Christ's passion - His blood. I put others first.
For 44 hours, I was gone from this world, unreachable. And in a way, dead. My life was these men, and my life was dedicated to prayer.
Spiritually, physically, emotionally, I am exhausted. But I have never felt more alive. No. That's wrong.
I emptied my own cup at a MMFC Phase One weekend in January. I poured out self and filled up on love, and I felt more alive then.
I went deep into my weakness this weekend. I spoke directly to God on behalf of others. I had to die to self, get out of my own way, swat away the distractions that keep me from connecting deeply to God through prayer, that keep me from connecting to people, and that taste of superficiality and obligation.
I was needed. I was called. And I was afraid.
Jesus met me in my fear, and . . . well, I said it already, I've rarely felt more alive.
September 30, 2007
September 28, 2007
Worshipping Self 2.0
In Addicted to MySpace Rob Alderman offers a behavioral self-portrait that sounds a lot like mine, which is all I have to say, even though I want to say more. I want to impress. I want to be recognized for my wisdom, my honesty and my insight. I want affirmation.
Even as I write about addictive self-promotion, I indulge in the sin of worshiping self. Again.
Even as I write about addictive self-promotion, I indulge in the sin of worshiping self. Again.
September 25, 2007
Shelter From the Storm
Shelter From the Storm is one of five 30-second child advocacy videos created by Compassion's Communication & Education department to encourage people that You Can make a difference in the lives of impoverished children.
How much do you know about HIV/AIDS?
Take the quiz at Compassion.com.
How much do you know about HIV/AIDS?
Take the quiz at Compassion.com.
September 23, 2007
Love Laid Bare
God has given me a name. It's Love Giver and Teacher.
And my mission in life, what He made me to do, is to help Him create a world bathed in love. I do this through encouragement, acceptance and forgiveness, and by being honest, open, generous and involved. But I don't know what that exactly means, what it looks like, and I fail frequently.
Ephesians 5:1-2 helps me understand my name. It tells me to surrender self, to imitate God and to live a life of love.
My anti-mission ruled my life until Christ spoke to me on April 24, 2005.
My anti-mission is how Satan uses me to create a desperate world - one clothed in denial and blinded by pride. When I allow my mind to revolve endlessly on myself, I am in an anti-God state of mind; I am full of pride. When I live my anti-mission, I avoid relationships, embrace self-love and covet control.
But when God gave me my name, like He did with Abraham, Sarah and Jacob, He said,
So a blog called gioLOGOS - the word according to me - puts its emphasis on the wrong person, which is why I'm making a change.
Love Laid Bare speaks to John 15:13 and the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross.
God wants me to write. I know that absolutely. But what I write and how I write and any other guidance on the matter is beyond me. I just know that I have wandered from the path and need to right my course.
A member of the Prophetic Ministry team at Lookout Mountain Community Church shared a word with me - one she received from the Holy Spirit about writing and my purpose.
And my mission in life, what He made me to do, is to help Him create a world bathed in love. I do this through encouragement, acceptance and forgiveness, and by being honest, open, generous and involved. But I don't know what that exactly means, what it looks like, and I fail frequently.
Ephesians 5:1-2 helps me understand my name. It tells me to surrender self, to imitate God and to live a life of love.
Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.And it helped me put words to my mission statement, to the feelings in my heart. But I also have a shadow mission, an anti-mission, a thing that possesses me when I take my eyes off Christ, when I elevate myself above Him.
My anti-mission ruled my life until Christ spoke to me on April 24, 2005.
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.And it still grips me at times.
- Matthew 11:28-30
My anti-mission is how Satan uses me to create a desperate world - one clothed in denial and blinded by pride. When I allow my mind to revolve endlessly on myself, I am in an anti-God state of mind; I am full of pride. When I live my anti-mission, I avoid relationships, embrace self-love and covet control.
But when God gave me my name, like He did with Abraham, Sarah and Jacob, He said,
For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light.Then He revealed the denial in my life, the deceit of self that shrouded my heart, and said that 2007 would be about relationships - with Him, with myself and with others.
- Ephesians 5:8
So a blog called gioLOGOS - the word according to me - puts its emphasis on the wrong person, which is why I'm making a change.
Love Laid Bare speaks to John 15:13 and the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross.
Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.The purpose of Love Laid Bare becomes getting involved with Christ's actions and presence in my life, in our lives and in life in general, to encourage a deeper, more intimate life in Christ.
God wants me to write. I know that absolutely. But what I write and how I write and any other guidance on the matter is beyond me. I just know that I have wandered from the path and need to right my course.
A member of the Prophetic Ministry team at Lookout Mountain Community Church shared a word with me - one she received from the Holy Spirit about writing and my purpose.
The word scribe came to mind. As you took the pen in your hand, you wrote and you wrote and you wrote, and it was like a song, and it would come off the pages, and the the words had a melody to it, and it was such an incredible creative piece. The words just came off like music, and I want to remind you that one of the most beautiful things the Lord has ever done has been to write the Word of God. It’s close to His heart. It’s something that He loves dearly. Nothing is better than His written Word, and I believe that He wants to combine His capabilities and mix it with your creativity and your giftings. I think it’s going to bring such joy to Him and it’ll bring a joy to you, and it’ll bring revelation to others who are privy to what you have created through the written word.Mighty heady stuff. Let's see where He leads me.
September 22, 2007
A Dose of Psychosis
I have a problem with my blog. And it's a personal problem. There's just too much of me in it. I struggle to write, because I can't take myself out of what I write. I'm not the author, I'm the subject, and I despise that.
I want to write about significant things, to make a difference, to mobilize people, but then I realize that my motivation is pride; if I could influence others with my writing, then I would be important, I would be someone.
I loathe the taste in my mouth as I write this post. It's a dark taste, black and bitter, that coats my tongue and burns the back of my throat. It's fed by the voice that says, "You manipulative jerk. You use honesty and openness to get your fix of encouragement and compliments." But it's not true. While at the same time, the idea of speaking into a void makes me think "Why bother?" I can't win.
But it's not about winning, it's about growing. And God has told me that this struggle is important to Him. It has something to do with His purpose for my life, which means I must persevere, and you will get periodic doses of my psychosis.
I want to write about significant things, to make a difference, to mobilize people, but then I realize that my motivation is pride; if I could influence others with my writing, then I would be important, I would be someone.
I loathe the taste in my mouth as I write this post. It's a dark taste, black and bitter, that coats my tongue and burns the back of my throat. It's fed by the voice that says, "You manipulative jerk. You use honesty and openness to get your fix of encouragement and compliments." But it's not true. While at the same time, the idea of speaking into a void makes me think "Why bother?" I can't win.
But it's not about winning, it's about growing. And God has told me that this struggle is important to Him. It has something to do with His purpose for my life, which means I must persevere, and you will get periodic doses of my psychosis.
Amazing Grace
This song affects me like no other song ever written, especially when it's sung so powerfully.
September 21, 2007
The Face of Poverty: A Mzungu’s Awakening
It’s 4:00 in the morning, and I can’t sleep. Past experience suggests it’ll be another week before my body understands we’re not still in Africa; however, this pre-dawn awakening has nothing to do with discombobulated biorhythms. The Holy Spirit is speaking, and He’s saying, “See me.”
My mind turns to Kibera, one of Africa’s largest slums, which is located approximately three miles from downtown Nairobi. The slum covers an area equal to New York City’s Central Park, and more than one million people, 40 percent of the Kenyan capital’s residents, are packed within its confines. But those are just numbers; they’re not people. Right?
For me, articles do little to make poverty real or relevant. The scourge always remains a world away. And photographs don’t put a face on poverty, despite the number of children they contain. The sounds, smells and taste of the air are trapped in the image, like inhabitants in a slum. The flies on a child’s face don’t crawl on my skin, and the mounds of garbage don’t make me side-step into a stew of raw sewage and rotting food. Malnourished eyes and sallow skin may spur others to act, but in my eyes, poverty often remains a concept; without a breath, without hope, without a true face.
I sponsor a child with Compassion International. He lives south of Kisumu, near Lake Victoria, far away from Kibera. I write him once a month and ask lots of questions. I send pictures every quarter and financial gifts as the Lord’s blessing allows. I eagerly wait to get a letter in return. And somehow I’m left wanting.
I want more frequent letters, delivered faster, and with more information in them. I want my questions answered immediately. I want. I want. I want. And while I struggle with my self-absorption, Lerionga Sheshoroi, remains a name on a piece of paper. The poverty he lives in isn’t real to me. Who is he? Who is poverty?
As the bus of children arrives at the park, my tour leader explains that the children are going to play a game with us. Each child will pick his sponsor out of the nervous crowd of waiting wazungu (white people). I breathe a sigh of relief that the game isn’t the other way around, but my relief is as short as the breath I exhaled. The game IS the other way around.
One child immediately recognizes her sponsor, sparking my hope that I may be as lucky. But my little man doesn’t come a’runnin’. I watch as one sponsor after another find their children, while the refrain “I don’t know which one he is” plays in my mind.
The day before, I led the devotion at the Compassion Kenya office. I spoke about mission, about discovering who we are, and God’s purpose for each day. Now I smile reassuringly at Lerionga, the shy boy shuffling towards me. This is my purpose for today, and I’m helping create a world bathed in love by being encouraging and present. Poverty now has a pulse.
Two days later, I arrive at the Jipemoyo (Take Heart) Child Development Center. I’m here to help build a retaining wall. I mix concrete, hoe red dirt and heft big rocks and tons of Stoney, a very gingery ginger ale, into the air, while my mzungu (white person) skin bakes in the equatorial sun. Roselyne Wanjiku and Caroline Munigi (photo), teenagers in Compassion’s Child Sponsorship Program teach me Swahili slang as we work. One wall goes up, and another comes down. My disconnected heart experiences renewal. The face of poverty is supuu (beautiful).
On the penultimate day of the trip, I meet Anthony Moggaless Njoroge. Anthony is a “computer geek” studying Information Technology at Jomo Kenyatta University of Agriculture and Technology. He has a magnificent sense of humor and an infectious personality. Both testify to the resiliency which helped him break the cycle of poverty.
Anthony grew up in a Nairobi slum, amid violence, drugs and despair. He joined Compassion’s Child Sponsorship Program when he was six and discovered hope. He’s now in his third year of college; thanks to Compassion’s Leadership Development Program, which helps the brightest Compassion-assisted men and women get their degrees. The students overcome the worst poverty throws at them, and they excel in doing so. They have the potential to become influential leaders within their churches, communities and nations, and naturally, my conversation with Anthony focused not on theology, economics or international relations, but on something equally profound – feet.
Debating whether Hillary Clinton has attractive feet is frivolous, but it makes Anthony real to me. Was it an unsuitable topic, given what he has accomplished? Possibly. That’s why I’m grateful for his indulgence. His laugh builds a bridge between our two worlds that I can walk across. I assumed laughter was a luxury for those who could afford it. It’s not. It’s a gift more abundant in those the world says have nothing, than it seems to be in those the world says have everything.
Dear Anthony, Caroline, Roselyne and Lerionga; my eyes are open. I see you, recognize the Holy Spirit in you and am blessed by you. Asante sana. Bwana asifiwe! (Thank you very much. Praise the Lord!
I wrote this in February 2007, after I returned from a Compassion sponsor tour to Kenya.
My mind turns to Kibera, one of Africa’s largest slums, which is located approximately three miles from downtown Nairobi. The slum covers an area equal to New York City’s Central Park, and more than one million people, 40 percent of the Kenyan capital’s residents, are packed within its confines. But those are just numbers; they’re not people. Right?
For me, articles do little to make poverty real or relevant. The scourge always remains a world away. And photographs don’t put a face on poverty, despite the number of children they contain. The sounds, smells and taste of the air are trapped in the image, like inhabitants in a slum. The flies on a child’s face don’t crawl on my skin, and the mounds of garbage don’t make me side-step into a stew of raw sewage and rotting food. Malnourished eyes and sallow skin may spur others to act, but in my eyes, poverty often remains a concept; without a breath, without hope, without a true face.
I sponsor a child with Compassion International. He lives south of Kisumu, near Lake Victoria, far away from Kibera. I write him once a month and ask lots of questions. I send pictures every quarter and financial gifts as the Lord’s blessing allows. I eagerly wait to get a letter in return. And somehow I’m left wanting.
I want more frequent letters, delivered faster, and with more information in them. I want my questions answered immediately. I want. I want. I want. And while I struggle with my self-absorption, Lerionga Sheshoroi, remains a name on a piece of paper. The poverty he lives in isn’t real to me. Who is he? Who is poverty?
As the bus of children arrives at the park, my tour leader explains that the children are going to play a game with us. Each child will pick his sponsor out of the nervous crowd of waiting wazungu (white people). I breathe a sigh of relief that the game isn’t the other way around, but my relief is as short as the breath I exhaled. The game IS the other way around.
One child immediately recognizes her sponsor, sparking my hope that I may be as lucky. But my little man doesn’t come a’runnin’. I watch as one sponsor after another find their children, while the refrain “I don’t know which one he is” plays in my mind.The day before, I led the devotion at the Compassion Kenya office. I spoke about mission, about discovering who we are, and God’s purpose for each day. Now I smile reassuringly at Lerionga, the shy boy shuffling towards me. This is my purpose for today, and I’m helping create a world bathed in love by being encouraging and present. Poverty now has a pulse.
Two days later, I arrive at the Jipemoyo (Take Heart) Child Development Center. I’m here to help build a retaining wall. I mix concrete, hoe red dirt and heft big rocks and tons of Stoney, a very gingery ginger ale, into the air, while my mzungu (white person) skin bakes in the equatorial sun. Roselyne Wanjiku and Caroline Munigi (photo), teenagers in Compassion’s Child Sponsorship Program teach me Swahili slang as we work. One wall goes up, and another comes down. My disconnected heart experiences renewal. The face of poverty is supuu (beautiful).
On the penultimate day of the trip, I meet Anthony Moggaless Njoroge. Anthony is a “computer geek” studying Information Technology at Jomo Kenyatta University of Agriculture and Technology. He has a magnificent sense of humor and an infectious personality. Both testify to the resiliency which helped him break the cycle of poverty.
Anthony grew up in a Nairobi slum, amid violence, drugs and despair. He joined Compassion’s Child Sponsorship Program when he was six and discovered hope. He’s now in his third year of college; thanks to Compassion’s Leadership Development Program, which helps the brightest Compassion-assisted men and women get their degrees. The students overcome the worst poverty throws at them, and they excel in doing so. They have the potential to become influential leaders within their churches, communities and nations, and naturally, my conversation with Anthony focused not on theology, economics or international relations, but on something equally profound – feet.Debating whether Hillary Clinton has attractive feet is frivolous, but it makes Anthony real to me. Was it an unsuitable topic, given what he has accomplished? Possibly. That’s why I’m grateful for his indulgence. His laugh builds a bridge between our two worlds that I can walk across. I assumed laughter was a luxury for those who could afford it. It’s not. It’s a gift more abundant in those the world says have nothing, than it seems to be in those the world says have everything.
Dear Anthony, Caroline, Roselyne and Lerionga; my eyes are open. I see you, recognize the Holy Spirit in you and am blessed by you. Asante sana. Bwana asifiwe! (Thank you very much. Praise the Lord!
I wrote this in February 2007, after I returned from a Compassion sponsor tour to Kenya.
September 15, 2007
September 9, 2007
A Proclamation
On September 12, I will be divorced for four years. But in this moment, I'm in a Christ-centered relationship. I'm dating a woman surrendered to God who happens to live very far away. Her name is Pam (right), and she's a missionary in Tanzania. When mentioning my relationship, I have always been apologetic, focusing on the circumstances rather than Pam. I called the idea of dating a woman in Africa "somewhat ridiculous." I didn't want to be thought unreasoned, so I acknowledged the unusual by voicing the unspoken judgement I fear.
I minimized Pam's beauty, and I diminished God, by not proclaiming the amazing. It's amazing to walk and grow with Pam, precisely because of the improbability. Our relationship, our potential, is God-driven and glorifies Him.
There's more to come in my relational journey with Pam and with God. God operates on many levels, and He thinks long-term. But for now, I proclaim that Pam is the woman I'm dating - a woman on A Glorious Adventure, secure in God's embrace, but half a world away.
September 5, 2007
Testimony
The devil is in the details. Even the success of the biggest project is determined by mastering the details, and for most of my life I allowed that idea to determine my worth, to define me. I am detail-oriented. Details are my strength.
The phrase said I was extraordinary and marked for greatness. It told me, "Master the details and you will be successful. You will be better than others." But the devil wasn't in the details, he was in my mind. He was pulling my strings.
Until I embraced Christ, I tried to write the script of my life; I tried to orchestrate my happiness. I thought I knew what it took to be happy, what I needed to be happy, but happiness eluded me. It was always in the next thing.
I sought to define myself from the outside in; I sought validation in relationships, through my hobbies, in my possessions and at work. I didn't know what I was doing, but I knew I wasn't happy.
I can recount numerous ways God has woven together seemingly unrelated threads in my life, to prepare me for where I am now, but the examples are just the details of my story. And the details dilute Christ's magnificence by narrowing our focus.
God is not in the details. He is beyond the details. He is more than what He has done. He is the great I AM, and He is always faithful - even when He is cast aside.
When I didn't desire Him, God desired me. Christ came upon me as I used Him to try and possess another earthly treasure. I had lust in my heart and sweet words on my tongue, and still He came to me. He filled me with peace and forgave me - FOR EVERYTHING - and I hadn't asked for it.
The heart of my testimony, of my accepting Christ, is the heart of God. It's the simplicity of Christ's undying, all-encompassing, compassionate love - the love every person longs for but doesn't always know where to find it.
Especially when I rejected Him, Christ sought me out and invited me to know Him. I did nothing. He did everything. His faithfulness opened my eyes, and I surrendered what was never mine to begin with - control of my life.
The phrase said I was extraordinary and marked for greatness. It told me, "Master the details and you will be successful. You will be better than others." But the devil wasn't in the details, he was in my mind. He was pulling my strings.
Until I embraced Christ, I tried to write the script of my life; I tried to orchestrate my happiness. I thought I knew what it took to be happy, what I needed to be happy, but happiness eluded me. It was always in the next thing.
I sought to define myself from the outside in; I sought validation in relationships, through my hobbies, in my possessions and at work. I didn't know what I was doing, but I knew I wasn't happy.
I can recount numerous ways God has woven together seemingly unrelated threads in my life, to prepare me for where I am now, but the examples are just the details of my story. And the details dilute Christ's magnificence by narrowing our focus.
God is not in the details. He is beyond the details. He is more than what He has done. He is the great I AM, and He is always faithful - even when He is cast aside.
When I didn't desire Him, God desired me. Christ came upon me as I used Him to try and possess another earthly treasure. I had lust in my heart and sweet words on my tongue, and still He came to me. He filled me with peace and forgave me - FOR EVERYTHING - and I hadn't asked for it.
The heart of my testimony, of my accepting Christ, is the heart of God. It's the simplicity of Christ's undying, all-encompassing, compassionate love - the love every person longs for but doesn't always know where to find it.
Especially when I rejected Him, Christ sought me out and invited me to know Him. I did nothing. He did everything. His faithfulness opened my eyes, and I surrendered what was never mine to begin with - control of my life.
The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you or forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.
- Deuteronomy 31:8 (NIV)
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