A Time for Change

As they often do (regardless of where I am), my thoughts strayed during the sermon this morning.  This particular trail may or may not have been sparked by the pastor's comment of Nehemiah's four-month preparation of prayer; I can't really remember for sure.

I began pondering the changes in my heart over the past couple of years.  There was a time when I could barely drag myself out of bed on time to play along on my guitar with the Sunday morning songs; now, I've been dubbed "worship leader" and am "leading" a full team of musicians and singers.  There was a time when I couldn't wait for church to end so I could slip out and go home before anyone noticed me; now I gladly hang around and talk to my fellow brothers and sisters until we relocate to some restaurant and reconvene there.

I thought of all the people who prayed for me during those days - faithful and dear friends who prayed for God to change my heart, and others who challenged me one Sunday at a time to intentionally speak to a single person before fleeing.  Bit by bit, over the course of many months, God did His work and changed me.

I then thought of other friends for whom I've prayed.  They have struggles, doubts, fears, sins...and I pray for them to overcome, to be changed, to heal.  I want these prayers to be answered overnight, and I look for quick results.

But this morning, maybe tucked between the lines of Nehemia - or maybe not - I saw how God does not usually change a person in an instant.  He is capable, and He answers many other prayers in such ways.  But when it comes to the heart, He takes His time.  Change will come, but with time, through the patient molding, forming, chastening, and loving hands of the Father.

The Next Journey

I can't keep up anymore.  No matter how sincere my intentions, I just can't get much done these days.  Blogging falls into that category.  So I decided that, while I'm sitting on my living room floor surrounded by folded clothes and medications and travel documents, I'd better get this post written before my trip is completely over.

One week from today I will have landed on Guatemalan soil.  I'm going there on a company-sponsored trip with two other therapists.  We'll spend a week there, four days of which we will travel to local villages to offer our services to anyone who needs them.

We've been preparing the best we can - phone-in meetings, prayer, checklists, expediting passports, reviewing profiles of past patients.  And I think we'll be as prepared as possible.

But I wonder if we will ever be fully prepared to submerge ourselves in an unfamiliar culture and language, to avoid drinking water and eat different food, to evaluate and interact with broken children who live in muddy cardboard huts.

I'm looking forward to this trip.  I'm excited to return to the Hispanic culture again, even if just for a few days.  I'm also excited, ashamed though I am to admit it, to break free of this daily grind that has just about ground me to bits.

We will be able to visit internet cafes on occasion, so my intention is to post an update or two as the week progresses.  If you happen to think of us, please pray for good team dynamics, wisdom and ability to treat all kinds of diagnoses, hearts to be changed, and God to work.  This is not specifically a "missions trip," but I love Jesus and there are people in Guatemala who don't.  Pray especially for people to come to know Him and for God to be glorified through us.

Thanks.

Complainer

More and more lately I've become increasingly aware of how negative I tend to be.  Constantly, it seems.

Whine whine whine.

Complain just as much.

Sometimes people tell me I'm too hard on myself.  Maybe that's true.

But I complain so loudly in my head that I can't always distinguish between what I've thought and things I've actually said.  So maybe said people don't know what a downer I am.

I caught myself doing it again the other night.  Not directly complaining, but negative comments that pointed to what I really meant.

I've even been accused of complaining when I was actually just telling a story.  Ouch.

Kinda feels like negativity oozes out of me.

I'm trying to work on it, trying to be more aware of how my words are presented and of my attitude behind them.  It's hard work.  I'd so much rather complain.  It's easier and more fun than holding my tongue.

Philippians 2:14 cuts hard:  "Do everything without complaining or arguing."

I do it a lot anyway.  But I'm working on it.  For those of you around me all the time...I promise I'm trying.

His Comfort

Sorrow abounds all around.

I think of a young mother who lost her baby, a young wife who lost her husband, a young woman who lost her father.

I think of them.  And I pray for them.

I ask God to comfort them.  In my disconnected sympathy, I equate comfort with "no more sorrow."  No more pain.  All calm and serene.

I want it to work that way.  I want God's comfort to mean all the bad things are gone.

But it doesn't.

One is still without a child, one without a husband, one without a father.

No amount of comfort will bring the lost ones back.  I don't know how that can ever feel ok.

I stlil pray for comfort.  But what I need to know is that comfort does not mean absence of sorrow.

It still means pain, but with peace.  Grief, but without despair.  Deep, bleeding wounds, but with hope.

It means He holds them while they hurt.

Running the Race, Keeping the Faith

I'm a loner in life.  I like to do things by myself, for the most part.  Don't get me wrong - I like to have friends and time to hang out and relax.  But when it comes to accomplishing something...I prefer to do it without help.

Maybe that's the control freak in me coming out.  Letting someone else help me might mean the job isn't going to get done quite right.

Or maybe sometimes I'm too afraid and proud to ask for help.  Don't want to appear weak and incompetent.

I've been training for a half-marathon, now a mere five days away (yikes!).  And I've been training by myself.  The main reason for doing this feat alone isn't so much the "control freak" part as it is the "freak" part.  Just about everyone I know around here would rather jump into a frozen lake in February than run thirteen miles.

So for the past twelve or so weeks, I've been training on my own.  Up before the sun, even on Saturdays, trying to get this non-runner body in enough shape to endure a final two-plus hours of pavement pounding.

But this weekend, I stepped outside my bubble and ran alongside a friend in a 10k road race as we each flung one foot in front of the other on our path to next weekend's finish line.

Jennifer has also been training for this half-marathon, and she was gracious enough to let me run with her Saturday morning. 

She wasn't gracious enough to slow her pace to make it easier for me to keep up.

And I wasn't about to admit that I wanted her to slow down.

So, for six-plus miles (that felt much more like twelve), I pushed myself to keep pace.  Around mile four, as I was panting and sweating all over the place, I thought how the journey of a Jesus-follower was much the same as what I was experiencing.

It's much easier for me to run my life-race in my own way, at my own pace.  But it is so very necessary for me to come alongside other Christians - younger ones to spur onward and encourage, and more mature ones to seek guidance and encouragement for myself.  I prefer to be comfortable, but it's more important for me to be pushed.

And so I continued to pant and sweat, trying to give this race my all (because isn't the purpose of a race to run in such a way to get the prize?).  Then I finally heard Jennifer say the sweetest possible words:  "Let's finish this together."

She continued to spur me on, even as we rounded the last bend, silently encouraging me to pump my now-numbing legs even harder for a solid finish.  How glad I am that I didn't decide to give up and let her run ahead of me while I settled for my own comfortable pace.

We each finished with the exact same time, with a pace that surprised the wet socks off both our feet.  We finished with a deeper sense of camaraderie, and satisfaction of a job well done.

And I finished with a new awareness of the need to push myself to keep step with those in faith who are stronger than me.  Because when I finish I want to hear the words, "Well done."