Freedom!!!!

Tonight I encountered Jesus.

I had spent most of the day feeling heavy and lazy and unmotivated. After an evening that felt utterly like defeat, I'd had enough. I saw the possibility of spiraling deep into depression and old chains and started to pray--proclaim, rather, the truth of who I am in Christ and where I stand. At first, it was awful. I felt like I could barely speak. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and run away. But I kept going. And then something happened. My words began to on a life of their own as I recognized that I have a choice, that I could choose freedom or I could choose to remain in bondage. As I proclaimed, the presence of the Lord rested on me and I found myself speaking such truth with such passion and with such faith. By my power? No, by the grace of God! This same grace that He has given each one of us (this means you have access to this same grace!).

Freedom was mine for the taking. And I was grabbing hold of it. 

And even now, I cling to it and I refuse to let go. You see, I have a choice. And I choose to be free.

"Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom" (2 Corinthians 3:17) and if you've accepted Christ, the Spirit of the Lord is inside of you! Therefore freedom is inside of you! 

"Those whom the Son sets free are free indeed!" (John 8:36). Jesus came to set the captives free. With His blood that He shed He purchased freedom for us ALL. He's already done it.

Therefore,  "throw off your chains, O captive daughter of Zion!" (Isaiah 52:2). "It is for freedom's sake that we have been set free. Stand firm, then and do not let yourselves be burdened by a yoke of slavery" (Galatians 5:1). 

Tonight, I had a choice. Remain passive and hopeless and bound. Or step into authority and hope and freedom. I made a choice. And I will make the choice as many times as I have to. I chose and am choosing freedom. I choose to be free.

Do you? 

That Awkward Moment When...

Normally I'm not a big fan of "that awkward moment" phrases as they are cliche and overused. But I couldn't really think of a more fitting title for a blog entirely about awkward moments. Of which there have been many. As most of you are very far far away, I have decided that it is only fair that you get a small taste of some of my hilariously painful and (warning: other overused cliche teenage phrase coming up) "FAIL" moments. Here goes....that awkward moment when:

-You find yourself staring in bewilderment at your front door. You have frustratingly been pulling at the key to your house, which refuses to budge. Finally you get your landlord to come help you and wait upstairs while he fixes the problem. Over an hour later he reappears with a new key for you as yours broke off in the door handle and he had to replace the whole lock. Oops. 

-On a hot, sultry afternoon you are on a walk. You are not particularly fond of the place you chose to walk that day as it is out of your ordinary sphere. A man in a car rolls by and (I am assuming) offers a ride. He doesn't listen when you say, "Nuk flas Shqip" (I don't speak Albanian) multiple times and keep walking. So finally you yell at him in tongues until he drives away. Let's avoid this road from now on. Yikes.

-You're going to exchange money and find yourself, not at a bank, but next to a foreign man in a back alley, late at night. Every scene from James Bond, Mission Impossible, and basically every action film floods your mind as you tensely glance both ways, then pull out your hefty load of cash (okay...if you call 800 dollars hefty) before making the discreet exchange. Except that instead of a back alley on a dark night, it was the side of a busy road, in the middle of the day, and the only one who considered this event even remotely James Bond-esque is you and your overactive imagination. Fail. 

-It's 11:00 pm. You've been out later than you planned and you just want to get in nice and quiet to avoid waking your landlords who live on the bottom floor. Only problem is the gate to your door is locked. You have to ring the doorbell for your roommate to let you in (thus waking the landlords). And when she opens the door, the alarm goes off. Quiet...or not.

-You woke up early, had a glorious run through the city. You are feeling victorious (and a little rebellious) that you went on a run before most of the world was up to gawk at you and remind you that you're "not in Kansas anymore, Toto."  You have just taken a luxurious bath and are dreaming of the awesome breakfast and coffee you are about to serve yourself. However, upon getting out of the tub, you bump a pipe coming out of the wall. In an instant your peaceful morning is interrupted by a torrent of water spewing from the wall. For what feels like forever you stare in shock, contemplating if running down three flights of stairs in a bathrobe is an acceptable way to ask for help. You decide that it isn't, get dressed with soaking wet hair, all while your bathroom floods. Screaming hysterically, "Ramiz! Ramiz! Uje! Uje!", you attempt to let your landlord understand the urgency of the situation. He doesn't. So you scream some more, "Hajde! Hajde!" and run upstairs, motioning for him to follow. He saunters slowly after you. When he FINALLY gets upstairs, he meanders into the pool otherwise known as "the bathroom" and turns a knob less than two feet away from the tub, thus stopping the water. Yep. 

-Two lovely Albanian girls are staying at your house for the weekend. However, a few weeks ago a screw came out of your bathroom door handle and you haven't bothered to put another one in (mostly because you don't know how to ask for it Albanian and you've learned the trick of carefully opening the door so the handle doesn't come off). Well, you forget to mention this little detail to your guests and the handle comes off. And, this time, we can't figure out how to get it back on. It's late at night and we don't want to wake up Ramiz to come fix it, so we decide we'll all go to the Center (which is right next to my house) to use the restroom there. Well, let's just say our attempts at silence utterly failed. Ramiz came to see what all the ruckus was and why on earth we were at the Center so late. sheepishly, we (or i should say Irena as she speaks Albanian!) explained. On the plus, he opened up the second story apartment for us to use until he fixed the door. That's good, right? 

Well...there are a few of my awkward moments. Hope you got a few laughs and experienced a glimmer of the trauma I've been through. I'm sure I'll have to go through counseling or something for all this. If nothing else, I've learned to find humor and hilarity in my day to day mishaps and experiences. Near or far, I hope you'll do the same! In the mean time, I'll try not to break anything...

Disaster Offerings

"He received out of her disaster."

That was a line that I wrote while updating my last blog post. Tonight I was reading that blog because I needed some encouragement. I didn't finish reading; I got to that line and was immediately moved. 

The woman with the alabaster jar was a disaster; there's no way around it. I can't tell you how often I've used the "but I'm a disaster" excuse to not pour out on Jesus, thinking, "I'll come back when I'm more put together." But when does "more put together" really come? And do I honestly want to wait that long before I turn to Jesus? 

You see, she didn't care. Or she refused to care. Or she cared and she went anyway. Because she recognized that if she didn't go then, she never would and she would spend her whole life regretting that she didn't give Him everything. 

All too often we think that we have to measure up to some invisible, exacting standard before we have something to offer--such as those at the dinner party did, when they said, "Lord, do you know what kind of woman is touching you?" A lie that the enemy once used to debilitate me was that same one: "You can't touch Jesus, look what kind of person you've been." But that's simply a lie! Jesus wants us now. Exactly as we are. Disaster and all.

When she poured out that fragrant nard on Him, He was blessed. He received. When she washed His feet with her tears, He was moved. He was honored. When she wiped her tears with her hair, He was touched. He was glorified. You see, He received out of her disaster. The very fact that she was willing to come to Him as a disaster moved Him to the very core. And as everyone else shook their heads in disdain, He loved her. And He defended her. And He was blessed because of her.

So don't wait until you're "more put together" or you'll never come. I know I never would. Come as you are. Bring what you have. Offer yourself. That's all He asks for. And quite frankly, that's all I have to give.

Costly Perfume

Let my praises rise like incense
Let this offering fill Your senses
All for You, all for You

I pour it out at Your feet
All I am for You
I pour it out at Your feet
All my costly perfume
The fragrance fills the room
All my life for You

This is only a portion of a song that I recently wrote about the woman with the alabster jar, who pours her perfume on Jesus. Most of the song talks about shame and about dealing with the crowds who are all staring at her. What she did cost her far more than the years worth of wages held that perfume bottle; it cost her her dignity, her pride, and her reputation. While her reputation wasn't much to begin with, I imagine that there was a sort of pride she carried in not associating with those who considered themselves better than her. And yet, she walked into a room filled with those very scoffing eyes and mocking voices because she wanted Jesus more than anything else.

That kind of passion and courage astounds me and amazes me and enthralls me. I want it and yet am terrifed of it--that reckless abandon that threw absolutely everything at His feet. She was a complete spectacle--a snotty red-eyed mess, her hair absolutely everywhere, covered in perfume and tears and dirt from Jesus' feet. All the while the dignified religious men were watching, mouths agape in disgust, shock, and horror. And Jesus just stood there. And received. Think of that...he received out of her disaster. Most of us would have called her crazy, He called her blessed.

In the middle of her most vulnerable, humbling, messy moment yet, she became the most beautiful, talked about, and captivating woman in the New Testament. I wonder how she felt. Did she feel foolish? Relieved? Exhausted? Overwhelmed? Ashamed? Free? Forgiven? Healed? All of the above? What drove her to so foolishly fall at His feet in the middle of the crowd--at someone else's house, no less? I am fascinated by this woman, and I am fascinated by how much her story moves me. I think what fascinates me most is how very very different we are and how very very much I relate to her.

Like her, I am driven by this passion to give everything for Jesus and yet everything isn't easy. Everything costs. A lot. And there are so many moments when I don't like what it costs to follow Jesus; it hurts, it's hard, it's unpleasant. And sometimes the road just plain gets lonely. Being in another country and another culture, I feel as if I'm often up and down, up and down. There are moments of such, such sweetness with The Lord and with my teammates and with new people. And then there are moments of such frustration and confusion and overwhelm. I can't decide whether I really want to be around people or I really want to hide away in my room and never emerge. And yet in the middle of my vacillating emotion, there is a continual steadiness, an unchanging knowing that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be: that the team I get the privilege of working alongside has been handpicked by God to be together. And that is wonderful, wonderful joy. And no matter what I'm feeling in the moment, I know that I know that I know that this is of God. Emotion will always take a backseat to that.

I guess what it comes down to is this: this is my offering. Being here. Following Jesus. Ministering alongside this team. It's beautiful and wonderful and costly. In Bend, I had an offering, it just looked different. It would have cost me to stay and it costs me to go. Here, the costs are simply more evident since my go-to comforts aren't as easy to come by. In many ways, it's healing. In many ways, it's refreshing. In many ways, it's filled with joy. And in many ways, it's hard.

But that's this journey, isn't it? And I wouldn't have it any other way.