Thank You for Letting Me Go...

"Only know you love her when you let her go...and you let her go." (Let Her Go, by Passenger.)

As I spend my first evening of the weekend before my first grad school finals packing my room and suitcases for the next crazy adventure, (France here I come!), I am surprised at some of the things that come to floating to mind along with dust and wisps of lint. Chief among these unexpected thoughts are the memories of those relationships with friends and family that have changed or ended over the years. At one time I was so afraid of this very thing happening, and would hang on with both arms and legs to the relationship despite the kicking and screaming of circumstance. Yet looking back, it occurs to me that I owe a very real debt of gratitude to the people who came and went in my life.

You see, they had courage to love me for a time, and a love courageous enough to let me go.

This is an incredibly hard concept to grasp. I continue to allow memories reside in my heart and mind, whose unresolved voices whisper "why?", "what did you do wrong?", and "why couldn't they love you enough to stay?".

And in truth, some relationships end because of a foolish blunder or selfish misstep on the part of one or both persons, but the easy majority of these seasonal relationships in my life came to a close because they needed to. Because in order to grow, we needed to be pruned.

Pruning hurts. When fruit trees are pruned they bleed sap out of their raw wounds, in an attempt to heal themselves and cover the scars. But the following season, it is these trees that underwent such pain that produce the most glorious fruit.

So while I may from time to time wistfully think back to family members that I never seem to see anymore, boys that married other girls and started other families, or friends that I miss hearing from and relating to, I realize it is because of each of these people that I am myself in this moment.

So thank you. "Thank you", to the family members that realized new wings need space to spread. "Thank you", to the boy who broke my heart and told me my dreams were too big for him to follow. And "thank you", to the friends who recognized the fork in the road.

And "thank you" to those friends who continue to impact my life today. Those friends that Shakespeare describes as someone who "knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow."

You have each been such an integral part of my journey. I wouldn't change any of it. Not even the painful stuff; not even the pruning. Because of those seasons, I am pursuing my dreams and continuing to grow into the woman that God has created me to be.

Thank you. Thank you for letting me go.

"To Let the Oppressed Go Free..."

"Sometimes you are so hungry that the only way you can be fed is to fast." -Susan Gregory

So this month I am trying something new, the Daniel Fast. While this particular concept of fasting is new to me, it has been around for thousands of years, namely, since the time of the prophet Daniel in ancient Babylon. In a nutshell, King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon attached Jerusalem and took many young men of Israel back with him as captives, including Daniel and his three friends, Hanahiah, Mishael, & Azariah, (the three dudes of fiery-furnace fame). As these guys were being prepared to appear before the king, they were served the same food as the royal court. But Daniel and his friends asked to only be given vegetables to eat and water to drink, in order to avoid being made ritually unclean by the richer foods offered to them. God blessed these young men, and they found high favor in the king's eyes, and became members of his court.

The notion of a "Daniel Fast" has become more popular lately, largely due to Susan Gregory's book/devotional on the subject. I have always loved studying the spiritual disciplines, especially the different types of fasting that were observed throughout history, and I had been looking for a significant way to observe the International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church, (Nov. 3). It has been heavy on my heart to spend more time in intentional prayer for persecuted believers around the world, as the number of attacks on Christians grows by the week.

So for the next 21 days, I will be fasting and praying for the church around the world. In week 1, specifically for believers in Asia & South America, week 2, Africa, Australia, & Antarctica, and week 3, North America & Europe. All continents experiences universal persecution from a world that stands in direct opposition to Jesus Christ, and each region faces challenges unique to that cultural and political system.

From a fast inspired by the prophet Daniel, to the words of another great prophet, Isaiah, I truly want this time to be consecrated to seeing the Lord work in a powerful way in me personally, and around the world in the lives of believers everywhere. I want to hunger for their deliverance and their encouragement.

"Is this not the fast that I have chosen: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, to let the oppressed go free, and that you break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and that you bring to your house the poor who are cast out; when you see the naked, that you cover him, and not hide yourself from your own flesh?
Then your light shall break forth like the morning, your healing shall spring forth speedily, and your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
Then you shall cry, and He will say, 'Here I am'.
....
Those from among you shall build the old waste places; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; and you shall be called the Repairer of the Breach, the Restorer of Streets to Dwell In."

{Isaiah 58}

This is the fast that I have chosen - one of power and of promise. Can you imagine what would happen to our world if Christians just in the United States put aside a period of time to really pray for other believers? To fast for their provision and protection? To intercede for their families and their churches? Can we dust off the foundations that previous godly generations laid for us, and actually rebuild a strong, selfless, power-filled Church?

Will you join me?

"Life Starts All Over Again When it Gets Crisp in the Fall"

So, this is embarrassing. Not only was I too lazy to keep up this blog appropriately, but I am also conceited enough to assume that people would read it if I did. Seriously, in this age of self-obsessed social media consumerism, internet readers have a plethora of highly intelligent, informed, substantial sources to peruse, as well as an infinitely larger number of ill-informed but very humorous sources available for light reading and a hearty chuckle.

So why continue? I suppose it is more for myself than anything else. I am terrible at journaling, I find it extremely boring and a little embarrassing, (my last visit home included an honorary "diary burning" - it was liberating.) But I want to be able to look back and see where I have been, and observe the crazy journey that I am traveling.

It is also for those few, dear, dedicated friends and family members who do actually attempt to keep tabs on where I am at any given time in my life. (My sympathies and deepest gratitude to you for your selfless love and determination in this daunting task.) I can barely remember my current zip code, much less keep track of anyone else right now.

So for the necessary detail updates: I am currently living in Edinboro, PA (30 minutes south of Lake Erie), and attending the graduate school at Edinboro University of Pennsylvania. I am in the Secondary School Counseling Master of Arts program, live on campus, and work as a Graduate Assistant in the counseling office, as well as serving lattes to bleary-eyed college kids in the library cafe every morning.

I am loving where I am at right now, (more about that miraculous story later - suffice it to say that I am "supposed" to be at a seminary in Boston right about now, but God has a funny way of totally turning my world upside down now-and-again). The area is rural and gorgeous, surrounded by wild mountains and serene lakes, but with a TJ Maxx and Panera Bread just half-an-hour up the highway! The weather is as erratic and fierce as I had been warned. Just two weeks ago I was basking in the comfortable warmth of early autumn. Then it snowed. On October 23rd. We got several inches in the matter of a few hours.

I love it.

I couldn't stop grinning while I poured coffee and served donuts at the library cafe this morning, huge white flakes blowing past the giant windows in the seating area. The locals all groaned, claiming that we are in for one heck of a winter; the undergrad girls whined, carefully-straightened hair wrecked by the damp flurries, and I just grinned. This is my kind of place. While I love the metropolis for its provision of every possible want or need and its close proximity to everything and everyone, I adore the untamed, unpredictable north. At the risk of waxing-Gaskell, I feel like there is a north in me that I will never be able to shake.

When I mention such whimsies to my friends, the majority groan and list all of the reasons that a retreat south of the equator would be more favorable. I am reminded of Margaret Hale's first impression of the north of England, in Elizabeth Gaskell's classic, North and South. 

“I wish I could tell you how lonely I am. How cold and harsh it is here. Everywhere there is conflict and unkindness. I think God has forsaken this place. I believe I have seen hell and it's white, it's snow-white.” 

Well, I wish I could tell all of you how contented I am. How welcoming this place has been to me, how the harshness of the way of life up here is mediated by the warmth in the hearts of those people breaking a living out of this hard ground. I know that God is in this place, I think I've seen a glimpse of heaven, and it is white, it's snow white.