Turning Heads

There is an old story about a king and his servant. One day, the servant was standing before the king in his dining room when, all of a sudden, he heard a loud crash come from behind him. Startled, the servant spun around to see the source of the commotion. A distraught cook now sat on the floor surrounded by shattered pieces of porcelain and the food that was meant for the king’s plate. The servant turned his head back to the King, expecting him to be furious with the cook who had ruined his meal, but instead of anger, he saw a deep disappointment in the king’s eyes. “Oh king,” said the servant, “we will soon have your dining room back in order and the cook replaced. Your meal will be set before you in no time at all.” The king looked deeper into the eyes of the servant. “It is not my cook who has failed me. When you heard the crash from behind you, you turned to see from where it came. I am your master, and you are in my presence. Your one ambition is to serve me; to keep your eyes on me. Had I wanted you to turn around to see what I could already see, I would have requested it from you. You are dismissed from my service.” The servant realized the weight of his error. He was not commissioned to respond to every noise he heard. He was hired to respond to the request of the king.

Many times I find myself in the same position as the servant in the story. There I am in the presence of my Master when, all of a sudden, I am distracted by the commotion around me. I take my eyes off the King and turn my head to look behind me at the task that seems too large for me, the person that has offended me, the situation that seems out of my control, the relationship that has been broken, or the sickness that won’t seem to subside. When I turn back around, there is Jesus reminding me that he already sees it and his desire is that I would keep my eyes fixed on him. He will let me know when he needs me to turn around. He will say the word when it is time for me to move. He will instruct me on how he desires me to respond to my circumstances rather than react. Thankfully, unlike the king in our story, Jesus doesn’t dismiss me from his presence or his service when I take my eyes off him. He simply reminds me that when I choose to keep my gaze set on him, he will take care of what is going on around me. He simply taps me on the heart and shows me that when I see the things behind me through the reflection in his eyes, I have a perspective that is aligned with the truth and not with how I am feeling.

We turn our head and see a friend who has offended us. We look through the eyes of the Master and see a human who needs just as much forgiveness as we do ourselves.

We turn our head and see a diagnosis that has been deemed hopeless. We look through the eyes of the Master and see an opportunity for a miracle.

We turn our head and see a job that is draining our energy and passions. We look through the eyes of the Master and see an opportunity to take Christ into our workplace.

We turn our head and see bills that are bigger than our paychecks. We look through the eyes of the Master and see the gracious hand of God meeting every need we have before we know we have it.

Dear friend, don’t turn around for anything short of a word from the King.

When Dirt Meets Grace

This past week, Hillsong United released their newest album called "Of Dirt and Grace: Live from the Land." If you haven't heard it yet, YouTube and Apple Music are your new best friends. It's good, y'all. Really good. The title of  the album comes from the track Empires. I've heard the song a million times since they originally released it, but hearing the phrase "of dirt and grace" really resonated with me more deeply this time around. It wasn't just a catchy line in a Hillsong track; it was a kind of clarification of who I am at my core. 

I am literally made up entirely of dirt and grace. If you don't believe me, read your Bible. In the beginning, God reached down into the earth, scooped up a pile of dirt, breathed life into it by His grace, and boom... thousands of years later, here I am. It puts things into perspective, doesn't it? At the end of the day, you and I are simply products of dirt and grace. In the midst of all of our circumstances, all our fears, all our accomplishments, all our failures, we are just little mountains of dust that have come alive through God's grace. Apart from the grace, there's just a lot of dirt. With the grace, there's a beautiful spirit and a vessel ready to be used for something greater than itself.

If we aren't careful, we see more dirt than grace sometimes. We see our brokenness, we see our shortcomings, we see our sickness, or our failed attempts to achieve whatever we had set our hopes on, our messy homes, our messed up relationships, our menial jobs, or our forgotten dreams. In our dead-set gaze on the dirt, we start to live life with little purpose, with little motivation, with little passion. We become overwhelmed by hopelessness and fear. After all, who am I except a big pile of dirt? 

When the dirt met grace, though, watch out world. There's life in there. Not just any life, either, but the life of God. The proof is stamped on the dirt that now bears His image. The dirt was no match for that grace. When grace met dirt, it changed it into something strong, something victorious, something beautiful. When we operate out of the understanding that we ourselves are the outcome of God's grace, there's not much that can stand against us and there's certainly nothing that can prevail.

When I realize what I am at my core, I am humbled. Humbled because I know that without God I am nothing at all. I am also strengthened. Strengthened because I know that though there's not much good about this 22 year old girl who can't seem to get through a single day without falling on her face, there's a powerful thing called grace dwelling on the inside of me that is more than enough for me to get up and keep going. 

I Can't Actually Lose

"There was a woman who had suffered terribly from severe bleeding for twelve years, even though she had been treated by many doctors. She had spent all her money, but instead of getting better she got worse all the time. She had heard about Jesus, so she came in the crowd behind him, saying to herself, “If I just touch his clothes, I will get well.”

She touched his cloak, and her bleeding stopped at once; and she had the feeling inside herself that she was healed of her trouble." Mark 5:25-29

"But to keep me from being puffed up with pride because of the many wonderful things I saw, I was given a painful physical ailment, which acts as Satan's messenger to beat me and keep me from being proud. Three times I prayed to the Lord about this and asked him to take it away. But his answer was: `My grace is enough for you, for My power is perfected in infirmity;' most gladly, therefore, will I boast in my infirmities, that the power of the Christ may rest on me. Therefore, I am well pleased in infirmities, in damages, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses -- for Christ; for whenever I am infirm, then I am powerful." 2 Corinthians 2:9-10

If I had to pick the outcome of one of these two scriptures to be my own, I would initially prefer to follow in the footsteps of the lady in Mark 5 rather than Paul in 2 Corinthians. The woman had suffered greatly for years, gone through endless medical procedures, doctor visits, tests, and treatments, but she pushed through the crowd, grabbed hold of Jesus, and was instantly healed of her trouble. On the flipside, Paul asked God three times to take his ailment away before he finally realized that his physical healing wasn't actually the big deal. When Paul asked God to remove the thorn in his flesh, God didn't refuse to give him a good gift of healing and wholeness.  God wasn't turning away and leaving Paul to wallow in his pain. What Satan meant for Paul's distraction, Paul embraced as an opportunity to be humbled, and God used as an opportunity to show Paul how His grace was enough to get him through. God was actually taking Paul by the hand and giving him the better thing as he poured out grace and power in his life regardless of his physical condition. Paul was asking for his symptoms to go away, God was looking for an opportunity to show Paul just how powerful He is to triumph not only over but also through his symptoms. My body right now is telling me "give me the healing and let me learn the lesson later!" But maybe that is not the best perspective to have. 

If I'm being honest, my end goal in life is not to be well and take it easy. On days like today, I'm tempted to make that my end goal, but I know in my heart that there is something I want more. More than feeling well physically, I want to be able to say that no matter what Im facing, my soul rests secure. I want to be able to say that no matter how I feel, God's grace is enough for me. God's power was perfected in Paul's life through his infirmity, and because of his infirmity, he learned to function inside of the power or Christ. Paul could not think for a moment that he was accomplishing anything on his own. He had to rely on God's hand at work in his life to make it through each day, each moment, and each challenge.

I am definitely not giving up on being well in my body. Like the woman in Mark, I am still pressing my way through the crowd and grabbing hold of Jesus. I am still placing my faith in the God who took my sickness and my suffering on the cross so that I can be free from it. I am also realizing, however, that God's grace is enough for me today. I see that what Satan meant to distract me, God is using to teach me about his goodness and his faithfulness in my life. If I go to sleep tonight still feeling this sickness in my body, I have more than enough to do it with joy in my heart and peace in my mind. It's a weird way of thinking, but my heart embraces it as true. If I'm seeking my healing above all else, I'm missing out on seeking the face of Jesus which far surpasses in worth. If I see my trials as opportunities to draw nearer to my savior, I can't actually lose.

All By Yourself?

Here is how 99% of my conversations have gone lately:

So, what are your big plans after college?

Well, I'm moving to Tulsa and finding a job here.

Oh, your family is all moving to Tulsa?

Nope, just me.

All by yourself? Do you at least have a roommate?

Nope, just me.

That's scary! Well, good luck with that.

I can't tell you how many times in the past few weeks since I decided to move to Oklahoma that I have heard the phrase "by yourself." It's usually accompanied by the phrase "that's scary," or with a simple "oh" and a concerned look on someone's face.

When we were little, "all by yourself" was an exciting thing. We celebrated riding a bike all by ourselves, going to Kindergarten all by ourselves, and getting dressed all by ourselves. We rejected help from our moms and dads just so we could say, "I did it all by myself!" Something has changed since then. What used to be exciting is now frightening. Why? We are scared of being alone.

I don't particularly enjoy being alone. I like to take an occasional hike by myself or a trip to the coffee shop to work by myself, but that's about all I can handle. I thrive when I am around people. It is part of my wiring. God made me to love being around others, and it brings me great joy and great energy. The idea of going home to an empty apartment everyday freaks me out just a little bit, and I'm already wondering which neighbors I can become best friends with (so far the elderly lady next door with the two attack dogs seems most promising).

The perception is that I am a 22-year-old girl alone in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The reality, however, is that I am not alone. I am not all by myself. First of all, I have friends and I will make friends. It may not happen right away, but I have a solid community of people here in Tulsa, and Jesus is already working on my behalf. Second of all, even if I never met a single person or if all my remaining friends left, Jesus has made it clear that I will never walk alone.

In John 16, as Jesus is getting ready to leave, he tells his disciples:

I didn't tell you this earlier because I was with you every day. But now I am on my way to the One who sent me. Not one of you has asked, "Where are you going? Instead, the longer I've talked, the sadder you've become. So let me say it again, this truth: It's better for you that I leave. If I don't leave, the Friend won't come. But if I go, I'll send him to you.

I can't imagine what it must have been like for Jesus' disciples to hear him say that he was leaving. I can almost feel the panic that ensued when they realized this wasn't just a joke. I also can't imagine that it would have been very easy to hold on to his promise of "the friend" not understanding what Jesus was saying. Were I there, I would have said, "but Jesus, I don't want another friend. I want you!" On the other side of it, however, we see what a gift the disciples were really getting... what a gift we were really getting. The Holy Spirit was on his way, and he was coming for good.

The Bible tells me that he will never leave me nor forsake me. It tells me that the Lord himself goes before me. It tells me that he will provide for me. It tells me that he sees my heart and he knows what I need before I even say a word. That doesn't sound like "all by myself" to me. That sounds like a pretty great team. Me and Jesus in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I think we are going to be just fine.

Repurposed

God does some pretty crazy things. He made a childless man the father of nations; and He made a man who had never seen rain the first boatbuilder. He made a slave the ruler of Egypt; and He made a stutterer his mouthpiece. He made a prostitute the heroine; and He made a shepherd the king. He made a Jewess the queen of Babylon; and He made a virgin the mother of his son. He made a backslidden fisherman the foundation of his church; and He made a persecutor of Christians the greatest missionary of all time. He is an expert at taking the most unlikely people, removing their labels, and repurposing them for the kingdom.

One year ago today, I was in desperate need of repurposing. I can still confidently say that this time last year was possibly the hardest season of my life. There were exterior circumstances surrounding me that were downright tough, and painful, and ugly, and dark. I was in the worst physical condition of my life, second only to the extreme complications I faced as a premature child; and I was slowly losing every person who I loved, leaving me feeling unwanted and unvalued. Those external conditions, however, were not nearly as serious as the problem my internal condition posed. One year ago today, I realized I no longer had any idea who I was. I didn't know that everything I believed about myself was simply a label I had collected along the way, so that was my definition. I didn't know that God was still interested in using me to do something big for his kingdom, so I was done dreaming. I didn't know healing was coming, so I cried myself to sleep every night. I didn't know restoration was just around the corner, so I accepted life would always be this way. I didn't know what I was passionate about, so I lost motivation. I had no idea what I was even doing here, so Jesus had to interrupt me and do some repurposing.

One year ago today, God woke me up in the morning and audibly asked me one really complicated yet beautifully simple question, "What have I created you for?" It was complicated because in that moment, I realized I had spent nearly two years not doing a single thing I was created for since I had lost sight of who I was. It was simple because I knew if I was willing to listen, he was willing to remind me. I went on a journey for the next few weeks in which no one could participate except myself and Jesus. I started dreaming again. I started having vision again. I started hearing again. I started breathing again. Jesus painted for me a picture of my life as he intended it to be, and I had never seen something so beautiful. There was a catch, though. None of what Jesus was speaking to me looked anything like the person I knew myself to be. He was saying "enough" and all I knew was "too much." He was saying "brave" and all I knew was "fearful." He was saying "strong" and all I knew was "weak." He was saying "choose hard" and all I knew was "stay comfortable."

I wonder if that's sort of how Abraham felt as God called the fatherless "father," or how Joseph felt as God whispered "leader" in the bottom of the pit. I wonder if Mary had a hard time hearing "pregnant" as a virgin, or if David cringed at "king" with the shepherd's staff in his hand.

I'm so thankful that Jesus has taken me on a journey of removing the labels I have scribbled in my own handwriting and replacing them with his purpose. I say journey, though, because I understand I am still walking down this road. I still wonder how the girl who just bawled watching The Good Dinosaur is going to handle loving foster kids and adopting children whose stories are full of hurt and pain. I still wonder how the girl who takes everything personally is going to deal with the rejection and relapse of the broken people she has been called to love. At the same time, I have hope as I realize that because of Jesus, the girl who was once so marked by fear and anxiety can now walk into some of the sketchiest places without any fear to share the Gospel. I have hope as I think about how Jesus allowed the 8-year-old germaphobe to grow up and hold the dirtiest hands and wash the dirtiest feet in the dirtiest places. 

I believe that He who started a good work in me will be faithful to see it unto its completion. I believe that He who created you and dreamt up your story before the foundation of the world will do the same for you. If you find yourself in a place of purposelessness, let me introduce you to my God of purpose. If you don't know who you are, let me introduce you to the God who made you with something specific in mind. If you have counted yourself out, count yourself back in, because Jesus is not done with you. That's the Gospel. You and I, we are broken people. We have a tendency to lose sight of our worth, to forget who we are, and to find things to replace the God who created us. But God is so gracious and so full of unfailing love. He was not content to leave us in our brokenness. Before we ever realized our need for a savior, He met that need. Nearly 2,000 years ago, God humbled himself and became a man. He lived a perfect life, something you and I could never do, which enabled him to bear the punishment of death for our imperfection. Jesus Christ allowed himself to be beaten, mocked, and hung on a cross so that you and I would never have to. But death was no match for his perfect love, and he proved it three days later when he walked out of the grave. Because of what Jesus did, you and I can know the Father. We can know who we are. We can have purpose. All he asks of us is total trust and complete surrender. Trust in what he did for us. Surrender of our plans. Surrender of our self-rule to make him Lord. It's a beautiful exchange, isn't it?

The Two Things I Don't Want to Talk About

If I had to pick something to relate my life to this past month, I would probably go with Walmart on Black Friday mixed with the Apple store the day of a new product release... Way too crowded, way too busy, and super disorganized, but also full of valuables. I feel a little slighted that no one adequately warned me about senior year of college, though I am not sure a warning would have been enough to prepare me, and I'm not sure senior year is the problem.

I have this totally made up scene in my mind that at the beginning of the year, Jesus sat down and thought to himself, "How can we teach her as much as possible in the shortest amount of time and still keep her alive?" Then he dreamt up the way these past few months have gone and called it a day. Like I said, totally made up, but it feels pretty accurate in my own mind. 

There is one lesson in this strange season that I have been wrestling with for well over a month now. I would love to pin it down, call the win, and move along never to think of it again, but I have a feeling the wrestling is a part of this process He is leading me through. This lesson is one I don't particularly enjoy discussing, and I am clearly procrastinating from announcing it to you all, but I have this nagging feeling that my transparency is also a part of this great process. 

I have never particularly enjoyed women's ministry. When people ask me why, I gladly respond that in my opinion, all women's ministry consists of is a bunch of women sitting around, complaining about their relationships, and crying about their self-esteem. The funny thing is I don't think I've ever actually seen a women's ministry program that was like that. That is simply a made up perception in my brain of what happens, and it sounds awful. I hate the idea of sitting around talking about relationships and discussing my self-esteem. In fact, I would rather do anything else in the whole world, because it makes me UNCOMFORTABLE. If there are two things in my life I have not mastered, they would be relationships and self-esteem, and no one likes to sit around and talk about things they aren't good at. At least my pride doesn't.

I have this little problem when it comes to relationships with others and my own self-esteem in that I tend to wrap the two together in a package and shake the box until they are so tangled together, they are inseparable unless someone pulls out the scissors. When a relationship frays, my self-esteem unravels. When my self-esteem is on the downhill slide, my relationships roll off the cliff. Recently, I have found myself desperately trying to force the two to work together, and it's been a total mess. The problem is that God never intended these two aspects of human life to be so dependent on one another. My ability to love and serve others well should not come from a place of self-focus, self-criticism, or selfish ambition. My confidence in who I am and who I was created to be should not come from man, others' opinions, or the amount of times someone compliments me throughout the day. Until I can successfully detach my relationships from my self-worth, neither of those aspects of my life are going to thrive.

Like everything else in life, this feels much easier said than done. I'm a huge words of affirmation person. It's definitely tied as my top love language, and has possibly even surpassed quality time in this season of life. I STRUGGLE to rely totally on the affirmation of the Lord in my life and not feed off of the encouragement and affirmation of others. I am not saying that the affirmation of others is a bad thing. I fully believe God gives us our love languages and that they are good things. However, the affirmation I receive from the Lord cannot continue to seem less significant to me than a compliment about my outfit or my hair. I also struggle not to let my self-perception be the driving force behind my relationships. I have this ugly false humility that comes in every now and again that says, "I'm too much of a burden to be friends with this person." or "This person deserves to spend time with someone far better and more encouraging than me." I start to see myself as less-than, so I act less-than, and then it really isn't all that fun to be around me anymore. But I did it to myself.

Like I said before, this whole concept is still a work in process for me. I don't get to end this post with "and then I figured it all out and now I'm awesome at relationships and have perfect self-esteem." It's not true. BUT, I do know that truth is truth no matter how I feel or even how I act. The truth is that God created relationships to honor to him and to spur one another toward him. The truth is that every person has something to offer others, especially when the Spirit of God is alive on the inside of them. The truth is that regardless of how I feel about myself on any given day, Jesus not only took the time to sit down and sketch my life, but he also gave his in exchange for mine. Regardless of how people do or don't feel about me, the Lord considered me significant. 

I'm still wrestling with these truths. My head gets them, but my heart needs convincing. My game plan is to keep waking up in the morning and preaching the Gospel to this little rebel heart. To keep speaking truth until it clicks and settles and resonates. I think I'm getting closer.

No Fear In Love

Much-Afraid shrank back. "I am afraid," she said. "I have been told that if you love someone you give them the power to hurt and pain you in a way nothing else can."

"That is true," agreed the Shepherd. "To love does mean to put yourself in to the power of the loved one and to become very vulnerable to pain, and you are very Much-Afraid of pain, are you not?"

She nodded miserably and then said shamefacedly, "Yes, very much afraid of it."

"But it is so happy to love," said the Shepherd quietly. "It is happy to love even if you are not loved in return. There is pain, too, certainly, but Love does not think that very significant." 

-Hinds Feet on High Places

There is something we all learned as a child without anyone having to teach us. I learned this lesson, personally, from a bad experience jumping on the bed. I was in my parents room one day when my dad walked in to find me bouncing around on the center of their mattress. "Don't jump on the bed, Lex," he said. I remember giggling at his caution as I unknowingly edged closer to the head board. "Lex, don't jump on the bed." Another laugh escaped my mouth. "Lex..." Then it happened: boing, boing, thud. I tripped, of course, and landed head first right on the edge of the wooden table at the head of their bed. Laughter turned into tears in the same way that gash has turned into a permanent scar in the middle of my forehead. I said to myself as I exited their bedroom that morning, "I'm NEVER jumping on that bed again." I made a promise to myself that I would never do something that had caused me pain. It was an inner vow that I believed would protect me from my bad experience. A vow never to jump on the bed again doesn't seem too dangerous. The other inner vows we have learned to make, however, are a problem.

More times than not, I have been wounded by people that I loved deeply. It happens to all of us. Just like Much-Afraid in Hannah Hurnard's Hinds Feet on High Places, we recognize that love gives someone else the power to hurt and pain us in a way nothing else can. After multiple times of being burned by those we loved, we face the temptation to say, "I'm NEVER doing that again." So the next time we have the opportunity to love, we shrink back in fear of that love being unreciprocated. The thing about true love, however, is that it "does not think that [pain] very significant." This is a hard statement for me to swallow sometimes. As a human being, and probably more so as a young female, I count the threat of emotional pain very significant. I don't want to get hurt, but then again, who really does? I feel Jesus telling me to love without restraint, but something inside of me cringes and says, "Please don't do this to me again, Alexis." I ultimately have a choice between love and self-preservation.

Many times when I tell people what I want to do with my life their first response is literally, "I hope you're prepared to get burnt." First of all, that's not exactly the encouragement I was hoping for. Second of all, I know they're right. I know that because of what God has called me to do and who he has called me to do it for, I am going to live a life in which the people I sacrifice everything for walk out on me. I know that out of all those I pray for daily, some of them are going to reject my love. I know that some of the families I take in, and some of the children I help raise, are never going to say thank you. Some are going to turn their backs on me. It is human nature. Hurt people hurt people and God has called me for hurt people. So what am I going to do? Am I going to sit at home all day and read self-help books between inspirational Lifetime movies? I could. It would sure be a lot less risky.

But I won't. Tonight, in a barn in the middle of nowhere in Oklahoma, I remembered something that I seemed to have forgotten. I have the only love that I will ever need. I have the love that keeps coming even when I'm the one who isn't reciprocating it. I have the love who did not consider pain very significant at all. If every day of my life I love without being loved in return, if everyday I wake up and am pained by those I fight for, I still find myself wrapped up in a love that is far greater and able to make up for all the other lost loves. There is a security I seem to have forgotten that comes from being found in the arms of a loving Father. I have made a few inner vows in my own attempt for security, but I don't need them anymore. I have forgotten the way God has healed my broken heart more than once, but I can remember it clearly now.

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out all fear.