The Hand and the Heart

I just took a Spiritual gifts test. It was useless from the standpoint that I am no clearer on what God wants me to do than before. My heart, however, was rubbed raw and exposed.

For the test, I had to rank myself on a scale of 1-5 for each statement:

[paraphrased]

"I have a strong desire to help others in time of struggle." YEAH!! 5!! I can't think of anything more beautiful than being the tool God uses to comfort and heal.

"I carve time out of my schedule to be involved with people." Umm...maybe 3. (No, Aubrey, be honest.) 2.

--

"I love the Church and long to see her growing and fulfilling the Great Commission." 5 again-gotta love the bride of Christ, right? My brothers and sisters!

"When I see a need in the Church, I step in and fill it." [Scrolling through a mental list of needs...financially challenged family with lots of kids and no nights out, prayer request sheets, conversations with the "awkward" people, conversations with the "perfect" people...]. Another 2.

--

"I believe that I don't have to worry because God is in control of every situation." 5 of course; I couldn't agree more. Isn't that part of Him being God?

"I proclaim the Gospel every time I feel God is calling me to witness." *cough cough* 2.

--

My head is almost perfectly Spiritual. I love the broken, know the power of the Church, believe in God's sovereignty. So why, in reality, do I chose my agenda over touching souls? My desires over serving the Church? My image over communicating the saving Gospel of Jesus Christ?

There is a disconnect between my head and my hand, a disparity between what I say I believe and what I live like I believe. The dividing chasm is my heart.

My hand is what I do. My mind is my intellect, how I reason and what I think. My heart is my desires, the place where my intellect and actions are joined. Proverbs 4:23 says the heart is the wellspring of life. The choices that constitute life flow from this furnace of longing, passion, hope, love. Longing, passion, hope, and love fixated either on God or on an idol. My heart is the core of my being.

And the strangest thing is, I have no power over it.

I can't control my desires, just like I can't force myself into liking the way salmon tastes. I can force my mouth to chew and my digestive system to operate, use brute and brawn to align my head and hand (it's healthy, it's brain food, lift that fork, release those digestive juices!). But as soon as I loosen the chain, head and hand are propelled as far apart from each other as possible, born away on the relentless current of my heart's desires. Desires stronger than I am. Desires that are fixated on self: self image, self satisfaction, self worth. Self tyrannizing self.

The only way for my heart to be changed is for a Higher Power to reshape it. That's why when Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:17 that we are new creations in Christ, he goes on to clarify that "all this is from God, who reconciled us to Himself". We are new not because we processed ourselves in the Spiritual recycle plant or even threw ourselves into the Spiritual recycle bin. We are new because He gave His Son and Spirit to make us new.

I'm praying that God will fill my heart with His desires so that head-knowledge and hand-action flow naturally together. So that even in the subconscious moments where my will has been worn away by exhaustion or emotion, my words and deeds are still steeped in His truth.

To Be

Lately I've been meditating on Isaiah 42:6-7:

"I am the Lord, I have called you in righteousness;

I will take you by the hand and keep you;

I will give you as a covenant for the people,

A light for the nations,

To open the eyes that are blind,

To bring out the prisoners from the dungeon,

From the prison those who sit in darkness,

I am the Lord, that is my name;

My glory I give to no other,

nor my praise to carved idols."

     I love this passage for a lot of reasons. For one thing, the poetry: "I will take you by the hand"..."a light for the nations"...."prisoners from the dungeon"...Reading passages like this humbles me, because my God is a writer, a writer who hears the flow of words, who threads them beautifully. A better writer than I will ever be. But really, language is just a shell for the vitalizing truth of these verses. Here God lays out our purpose: we are called to shine, bright white against our soiled world. Radiant. Pure. We are called to descend in the dungeon, to take the hand of those who are mired in the dark stench of sin and lead them into His light. But this purpose is bundled between two blindingly powerful proclamations-"I am the Lord!" "I am the Lord, that is my name!"

We shine, rescue, proclaim, and love because God is Master of the Universe. It would be shameful to subjugate our lives and wills to anything less. But since our God is the very source of existence, existence naturally flows back to Him. The world exists for His glory. Each person exists for His glory. The love God shows us pre-existed within Him; He only chose to manifest it through Christ because of the depths of His grace (Ephesians 2:7). I have a grand purpose, and every trace of it is bound up in His Lordship.

Lover of Light

     I finally finished Les Miserables. When I started it a few months ago, I thought I would never finish. Ryan and I counted: EIGHTY-SIX Kindle pages for ONE PERCENT of the book! And when I finished, I wished it would never end. Les Mis is one of the most beautiful, powerful books I have ever read. Victor Hugo examines the world through the lens of man's soul. The lens isn't rose-colored; Hugo lays bare the depravity of our disfigured human hearts, and the lies and atrocities proceeding from them. But at the same time, Les Mis does not abide in the shadows.

     Probably the most heart-wrenching storyline is Fantine's. Fantine sold her hair, her teeth, and her love to provide for her estranged daughter Cossette. The people of Montreuil-sur-Mer saw the gaps in Fantine's mouth and pronounced her grotesque. They saw her on the prostitute's corner and, in all their moral virtuosity, declared her disgraceful. Everyone who could have lifted her up instead passed by with averted eyes. I wept, because I saw the whole picture of Fantine's life. I saw that Fantine was used and abandoned by Cossette's father. I saw that she had placed her daughter with a foster family to keep her from the shame of illgitimacy. I saw that she was decieved into believing that her Cossette was desperately ill and in need of expensive medicine. I saw Cossette in perfect health, being used for slave labor while Fantine's money lined the pockets of a criminal innkeeper. I saw the sacrificial love for her daughter that Fantine lived by. But the townspeople only saw the shame Fantine had been forced into, and the hatred their shunning spawned in her. Hugo writes, "Those who do not see, do not weep."

     There are so many things we do not see. I don't know the stories of the people who sit on off Judson Road with misspelled signs, or the homeless man whose eyes I saw peering out from a pile of cardboard and towels under a downtown bridge, or the rude old man in the grocery store, or the barely dressed girl in Wal-Mart. Certainly they are sinners. We all are. There was a great deal of darkness in Fantine. But somewhere in Fantine, in those broken people around me, is a light, a trace of the image of God. I want to see their pain, their stories, their hidden light. I want to be a part of bringing out that light, seeing it redeemed, like Monsieur Madeline rescued Fantine and brought out her light.

     2nd Corinthians 5:16 says, "From now on" [now that the love of Christ controls us] "we regard no one according to the flesh". We don't see people the same way. Verse 18: "All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to Himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation." Through Christ, God has brought me back to Himself and given me new life. Now it is my blessing and duty, granted by Him, to bring people to His "wonderful light" (1st Peter 2:9).I cannot see everything, but I know the Light, and because of my great God I can see Him everywhere, even in the blackest corners of the blackest souls.

I will strive to be a Lover of the Light.

Art as Imitation

     This year, I've been able to teach art to my younger brothers, and some of my cousins. I'm not even really a very good artist-I started drawing because it was something my brother could do better than me, and Heaven forbid that! But I do love painting, and I have a tiny bit of knowledge to pass on.

            Art is what I'm drawn to-literature most of all, but drawing and painting and music have their place in my heart, too. If I have free time, I hole up in my room with my violin or pencil or most often laptop to materialize the ideas in my head. But I came to a point where I started to wonder, is this a waste? As a Christian, I am "called to proclaim the excellencies of Him who called [me] out of darkness into His wonderful light" (1st Peter 2:9). Artistic expression is fun. It's invigorating and freeing. But in the end, isn't it just selfish indulgence, like watching TV or wasting time on Facebook? Shouldn't I  be out preaching the Gospel instead?

The answer is yes, and no.

    The goal is to glorify God, to proclaim His excellencies. Preaching the Gospel is absolutely one of the most important ways to do that, but it isn't the only way. Colossians 3:17 says "whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God". Eating and drinking can glorify God. So can art.

    God is an artist, a Creator. He "formed me in my mother's womb" (Psalm 139). The sky is declaring his handiwork (Psalm 19).

He fashioned this ladybug, and

He delighted in sculpting this little cutie.

    Edith Schaeffer was so right when she said, "A Christian, who realizes that he has been made in the image of the Creator God...[is] meant to be creative on a finite level."

     I can write words that tell of God's greatness, and weave stories that point people to Him. I'm doing a Bible study with a girl in my neighborhood, and when we get together, we're going to paint. Whether your art is soccer 

or water polo

or ballet

or carpentry

or drawing 

or harmonica playing 

or baking 

or interior decorating, you can use it to draw people in: into yourself, or into God. God who gave you the abilities. God who is the first Creator, and who everyone, whether they realize it or not, creates in imitation of.

Wheels and Winds and Wandering Souls

There’s a sign tied to the ride’s green gate. It’s fluttering and hard to read, but I finally make out “Ferris Wheel Closed Due to High Winds”. I try to ask the man running the Ferris Wheel if it will open again soon, but he is inside the shut gate, eating a sandwich that he appears very absorbed in. Sierra starts walking away, but I stay rooted and she’s holding my hand, so she has to stay, too. I stare at the sign and wish for the high winds to settle down to a nice, gentle breeze.

     I feel Sierra backing in to me. An old man is trying to grab her hand. I pull her close, but don’t bother running away. I could knock the man over, that shows how frail he is. And he’s old-seventy or so. His dark, wrinkly skin hangs on his arms more like a loose-fitting jacket than skin. He stretches his gnarled, trembling hand out to mine. The fingers are twisted in directions fingers were never meant to go. Some of his nails are an inch long; others are broken off in rough, jagged lines. I gently push the withered hand away. He grins at me, a toothless grin, and then totters off. I feel heavy inside.

        Once he had been as innocent as people get, only crying and sleeping and eating and wanting to be held and loved. I wonder what brought him from that to this, stumbling around drunk at a carnival in rags and bare feet. Did he choose a hard life for himself, or had he never known anything else? And if he had never known anything else-maybe his father had beaten him, or maybe he didn’t know his father at all-then why am I walking around in new shoes with a wad of bills in my pocket? Why him and not me? I try to follow the weather-beaten man with my eyes, but he is lost in the back-and-forth swarm of people.

      Suddenly the carnival’s neon colors seem garish and gaudy. There’s no enchantment to the music-box tunes or painted ponies or shouts of the balloon man, and the popcorn smell feels overdone. All I see is the grey concrete underneath me and the faces going by. So many faces. So many souls. And so, so much wandering.

The Eternal Farewell

We awoke that morning, not gently. Not to singing birds or warm sunlight, like in the stories, but to Truth. Its icy tendrils wrapped around us, digging into our skin, seeping into our blood, weaving its way through our bodies until it pierced our hearts.

The mirror had lost its deceptive sheen. Looking into it, we saw what we really were: hideous, disfigured, unspeakably vile. I watched you cry through the curtain of my own tears. The droplets froze on your mutilated face.

I felt Truth begin to wrap around my throat, strangling me. Breath came out from my twisted lips in broken gasps. I pleaded with you to cry for help, because you were still standing. You would not. A sneer transformed your face from wretched and pitiful to evil. It was watching you harden that gave me the strength I needed. With the last of my air, I croaked out the Name.

I had been taught the Name, heard it from many who had called on it before. So had you. Indeed, we both had even said we believed in the Name’s power. But not until that morning when Truth came had either of us called it.

The ice inside of me transformed into a raging fire, burning in my very soul. Warmth and life spread through my limbs. The mirror rippled, and the face in it-my own-transformed into a thing of beauty. Not pure, but a shadow of what it could be and someday would be. I had seen that face before. It belonged to the Name. No one alive had seen the Name, but I knew it well enough to recognize without seeing. It was inside of me-Truth, the Name, whatever one calls Him. Yes, Him.

I turned to you. Your face was contorted with inward pain, but no scream escaped your lips. You were not breathing at all. Truth had frozen within you because you refused to call the Name. Your heart was stone, you were a monster. Not yet complete Suffering, but a shadow of it, as I became a shadow of Him. You turned and began to run, straight towards an endless black pit. I ran after you, crying out your name, begging you to call for Him. You would not listen until you were over the pit’s edge. Then, it was too late.

I could not follow you. Because He is within me, there is another place I run to in the end, a place of joy. It could have been your home. But you were too proud.

You counted surrender as too high a cost for the salvation of your soul.

There and Back Again {Camp Regen 2012}

I'd been anticipating it for a whole year, building up images in my mind of what it would be like. The images grew in quantity and magnitude as camp got closer and closer. I was warned by my parents to reel in my expectations, lest I be bitterly disappointed.

I didn't.

And for once, I wasn't let down.



"Nomad to Ghost Rider. Do you read me, Ghost Rider? We were just wondering how our dust tastes. Apply cold water to burn and await further instructions. Over and out."



 Very possibly, the van ride was the best part of the entire trip. Not only were the coolest people ever in mine (or probably because they were), we sang and danced for the vast majority of the time. I never before realized it was possible to dance in a van. There were great conversations about struggles and the hope of Heaven, several gripping games of Mafia, and a lot of stupidly hilarious inside jokes. ("Look! There's a Tuscan Raider riding an Al Qaeda!")

CrossLife!

We pulled into the Glorieta campus at 4:00 PM, our van rocking (literally) with the combined energy of 14 sugar-high, underslept teenagers who'd been crammed in a van together for 20 hours. Awesome.

Andrew Guiterrez and Austin Duncan who is, by the way, my new favorite speaker.

The first session, taught by Austin Duncan, was on the Lordship of Christ.

Pre-session reaction: "Oh boy, I've heard this a million times already. Guess this one is for the unbelievers who were dragged here."

Post-session reaction: [insert bawling here]

I was in tears. Never before did I fully grasp the completely implications of Christ being Lord of the Universe, and of my life. I am His posession. He is not only the purpose and master of my existence, but the essence of it. I owe everything to Him; my sole goal is to glorify Him and preach His Word.

Small group was full of tears and testimonies. Pledges to keep eachother accountable. Prayers.

Wow. 2 hours into camp, and already God is working in wonderful ways.



^Morning devotions and just chilling with my Meir <3^

HOO, HA, YELLOW JACKETS! HOO, HA, YELLOW JACKETS! RICKA RACKA FIRECRACKER SIS BOOM BAH! YELLOW JACKET YELLOW JACKETS RAH RAH RAH!

(rally session)

The games were fun, and messy, and loud, and...messy. Yeah.

Apparently, the game crew's idea of fun for highschoolers is feeding eachother disgusting foods and getting muddy. And actually, it was pretty fun. xD

The legendary Kajavikankan, which is supposed to be played around a trash can with a pig's head on it. We kinda got off-center :P Our pig was named Wilbur.

 Night game #2-Ultimate Steal the Bacon Tournament, played in 50 degree weather while being sprayed by fire trucks. If I hadn't gotten hypothermia, it would've been almost as fun as Mission Impossible, the first night game. That one made you feel like a secret agent. This, more like a gladiator.

Love these girls <3

Highlights: every single small group, but especially the first and last. Van ride. Being Simeon's sister. Talking with Meir and Flo in the canoe. Stealing Arob's soccer ball. Meeting Austin Duncan in the Chuckwagon. Emma flat ironing my hair (nobody recognized me :D). Flash mobbing. Mission Impossible. Our team owning Neb's Head. Brazilian Joe. "Hello, how ya durin', how ya durin', hello." Hearing Pastor John MacArthur, who is practically a celebrity ;)

With John MacArthur

 It was  time of raw honesty, intense Spiritual growth, and pure, immature fun. I walked away bursting with meaningful conversations and love for every single person in CrossLife.

God has blessed me so much here.

I can honestly say I'm ecstatic to share the Gospel and live a life on fire for Christ alongside so many other faithful Believers. Camp changed me, not just on the emotional level, but forever.

And, hopefully, I'll be back next year.

(Mrs. Langenberg gets all photo credit.)