Goodbye, 2013!

So I have been trying to write a post for today, the last day of 2013, for the entire month of December. And I've got nothing. I wanted to write a nice, this-is-what-2013-taught-me post that puts all of the ups and downs in a nice little package with a pretty bow on top. It became quickly apparent to me that wasn't going to happen. Some of the lessons, some of the scars, some of the joys, are just too fresh to put into a package.

I don't know what to say about 2013. It's my favorite and least favorite year of my life all at the same time. I split the year almost exactly in half on two different continents. My feet tread on Zambian soils for 181 days and walked on the streets of America for 184. Both places held great joys for me. There was also some deep darkness.

Had you told me on this day last year (my first day in Zambia) what this year would hold, I would have turned around and gone running the other way as fast as I could, thinking there was no way I could handle it. But in a way, I'm kinda thankful life doesn't work like that. There's some things you only learn by finding yourself in a valley so deep you can't see the mountain top at all. There's a sweetness in the journey of being carried out of that valley too. There's a beauty in being held by the Father when you're too weak to hold onto Him yourself.

That's about as deep or sentimental as I'm going to get today because that's where the words are stopping. Instead, here's some fun favorites from 2013:

My Favorites of 2013

Fiction Book: The Book Thief  by Markus Zusak

Non-fiction Book: The Knowledge of the Holy  by A. W. Tozer

Bible Verse: Psalm 97:5

Album: Take the World, But Give me Jesus by Ascend the Hill

TV show: Downton Abbey

Song: "How Great Thou Art" by Ascend the Hill

Blogger: Jen Hatmaker or Sarah Bessey (there's so many others I never miss a post from)

Restaurant: The Deli (Lusaka, Zambia)

New Skill: Driving a stick shift (while driving on the opposite side of the car and road)

Picture: 

Non-profit: Clothed in Hope

Kid Quote: "Miss Melanie, I was just so bored. I had nothing else to do." (reasoning for giving his twin brother a wedgie)

Note from a kid: "Miss Melanie You mak good love for me and my frends. We love you so mach. You are speshl to me. You mack my haret sooper happy!"

My most popular blog post: "My Flesh and My Heart May Fail" (by almost 300 views)

My personal favorite post: "He Allures Me Still"

Questioning, But Believing

Advent. Come Thou long expected Jesus.

For whatever reason, my heart and soul are really resonating with Advent this year. With the waiting. With the expectation of His coming. It’s like I can feel myself right there with those Israelites wondering if and when their King will come. I’ve been trying to figure out why it is that my heart feels so connected to Advent this year.

And then I realized, it’s because I understand waiting differently than I did this time last year or any year prior. About 6 months ago, I found myself waiting in a way that I had never waited before. Curled up in the fetal position on a concrete floor, Bible clung to my chest, I cried out to God and waited. And waited. And waited. I waited for God to remind me He was there. It’s weird and humbling and somewhat terrifying place to be—questioning if God is there but knowing in your heart that your only hope is that He is. Asking for faith to believe He’s there. And waiting for the faith to come.

I imagine that’s a little bit of what the Israelites felt as they waited for generations. Waited and waited for their Savior King to come. Questioning where God was, but believing He would come.

Because He’d always come. And He always will. And so in the waiting and in the doubt, there’s still this sweet assurance that He will come, that He is there even. There’s faith that He’ll give faith.

In the overwhelming darkness that still brings chills to my bones and causes my fingers to tremble, I knew He would come. I knew He would not leave me there. I knew His plan was for joy, not despair. I knew He would come. I even knew He was there though I could not see nor feel Him.

Because He’s always come. Because He came. Because He’s coming. Because He’s Emmanuel—God With Us.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Emmanuel has come for Thee, O Israel!

And so this season, during this time of Advent, my heart understands waiting. My heart also understands the joy of His coming more deeply, because I know the joy that follows desperate waiting. My soul only understands a fraction of what the Israelites waiting must have felt like because I know He came. God came and dwelt among us in human flesh. He descended from His throne in Heaven and lived among us as a servant. He lived the perfect life we could not live, took on our sin and received the wrath of God, dying the death we deserved, and rose from the grave forever conquering sin and death.

I, unlike the Israelites, have the benefit of knowing He came. He came for them. He came for us.

And I can wait in faith that He will come again.

Teaching Life

So everyday from 3:00-5:30 I have the crazy, awesome job of being an AfterCare teacher at my school. I work with some pretty wonderful (in my completely unbiased opinion) first and second graders. We have a great time together.

Recently, I've been thinking about what it is I do with my kiddos during that block of time. I'm not really teaching any core subject areas. Sure, on occasion, I help a kid with homework. But homework assignments are few and far between for most of my kids since they're young and often times even if they do have homework, they don't need my help. They've got things under control. Anyway, so I've been thinking, "What am I doing with these kids other than entertaining them until their parents arrive?"

And it hit me. I get to teach them life. Or maybe better said, we teach each other life. Sometimes our lessons are simple: rolling down the hill is lots of fun. It's something I think every kid should know. And so the other day, I took my kids outside to the hill on the side of our school instead of the playground, and said, "You can roll down the hill or just run around." One kid looked at me quizzically and asked, "Roll down the hill? We can do that?" "Yeah, it's really fun. You'll love it." My entire class rolled down the hill over and over and over again for a solid 15 minutes. And the smiles on their faces were huge. One little girl, after about her fifth trip down the hill, ran past me and exclaimed, "This is so fun, Miss Melanie!" After we finished and went back inside, I spent time picking grass out of all the girls' hair, just talking and sharing our days with one another as they colored and wrote notes.

Sometimes our lessons are a little deeper. This week I read my kids a book by Max Lucado, If I Only Had a Green Nose. It's a story about all these wooden people who get their noses painted green to be "with it." And these three wooden boys decide not to do it, at least until peer pressure gets the best of them. And then they're always having to change the color of their nose to be in the cool crowd. One day it's red; one day it's yellow; one day it's orange. And finally they realize it's better to be how they were created to be. So they go to the woodmaker and he uses sand paper to file away all the layers of paint until their noses are back to their "common" noses. And so after we finish the book, I say, "Any take aways?" Hands shoot up in the air. And these are their direct quotes:

If other people show you what they got, you don't have to get it too.
Be yourself.
Don't follow what other people do if it's not the right thing.
Don't try to be someone else.
Don't let other people tell you who you are.
If people tell you to fit in, you don't have to do it.

And then there's dodgeball. We learn a lot from dodgeball. I line the kids up and someone shouts out a way to divide the teams. I tap kids on the head as I alternate between the two team names: "Alien... dragon... alien... dragon." I end by tapping myself on the head with the next team name and join in the game. And dodgeball... it teaches us lots of lessons: how to solve problems when there's a difference of opinion, how to share, how to work together, how to have fun and laugh together.

I also think it's important to teach them through owning up to my mistakes. Last week, I was helping one of my girls with her math homework and felt like she was really invested, actually understanding what it was she was doing and learning new strategies to solve the problems. And so when another little girl came over to us and started talking to and distracting the child doing her homework, I spoke a little more harshly to her than I should have. I knew it as soon as it came out of my mouth. So a few minutes later, I called the girl over and apologized. Because I think it's important that they know adults make mistakes too. And in modeling apologizing for her, she learns a little more about what humility and apologizing look like.

Our days are not perfect. Not everything goes how I want it to go. Not every book I read them inspires thoughtful conversation. Sometimes a dodgeball game makes me want to pull my hair out. But even then we're learning life from one another-- how to deal with frustration and expectations that aren't met, choosing your battles, how to help one another make wiser decisions. And life, sometimes it's messy and it doesn't look perfect. And that's a part of the lesson.

In Which I Don't Have the Words... But I Know

I've had a blog on my heart for a couple of weeks. But it's one I approach very humbly, because I know I just don't have the adequate words. So I haven't written it.

You see, Christ has been working on my heart lately. In every area of my life, He's been teaching me the same lesson-- "I am enough." And it seems like a simple thing. You know, it's one of those things that most Christians say-- "Christ is enough. He's all I need." But lately, I've been realizing there's a big difference in knowing that in your head and believing it in the very depths of your core.

And let me tell you, believing it in the very depths of your core is incredibly freeing. It allows the blessings of God to be just that. Just His blessings. I don't have to look to my job for my worth, value, or identity. My job doesn't give me my purpose in life. I don't have to look to my relationships for my worth, value, or identity. They don't give me my purpose in life either. They are not the source of my joy. I don't have to look to other people's approval for my worth, value, or identity.

The only thing that matters is Christ. And here's the thing: I don't even have to do anything to earn my worth, value, and identity in Him. He freely clothes me in His righteousness and covers me in His grace and I haven't done a thing to earn it. His love for me comes out of Himself. It's not based on me. I can't do anything to make Him love me more or less.

He doesn't think less of me because I came home early from Zambia.
He doesn't think less of you because of your latest failure.
Because His affections for you, your righteousness before the throne of God, are not based on you at all. They're based on Christ.

And so in the throne room of heaven, before a holy and just God, Christ is enough for you.

Already, I feel the words are failing me. Because I so desire for you to truly understand this too. To truly have the full assurance that Christ is enough. Yes, in the throne room. But also on the earth. He's enough.

Recently in my lifegroup, we wrote down the 10 most important things (people, accomplishments, pursuits) in our lives on index cards. And one by one we took them away, symbolic of losing them in our lives. It seems like a silly little exercise. But let me tell you, when you're left with none of your earthly joys, pleasures, and pursuits in your hand, it's pretty humbling. Who would you be without these things? If I didn't have that relationship... if I didn't have this job... if I hadn't accomplished that...

If all else is stripped away, is He enough?

I know that answer to be yes. A resounding, fully confident yes. He is.

Would there be grief in losing all those things? Absolutely. Tremendous, overwhelming, suffocating grief. But God created us to be emotional beings. He created us with the capacity to feel grief. And so knowing this, knowing He is enough, doesn't mean we don't experience grief. That is not what I'm saying at all.

What I am saying is that we can walk through those seasons of grief with an overwhelming assurance that Christ is enough. He is sovereign. He makes a better God than you would. He sees from beginning to end at the same time. You don't even know what the next hour of your life holds, no matter how much you'd like to think you do.

In my darkest hour in Zambia, so dark I would never even attempt to put words to it, Christ was enough. When I literally couldn't breathe under the overwhelming weight of the darkness, He was still there. He carried me through. And I have a deeper sense of belief that everything else in my life can fade away and He will be enough. And so I wouldn't trade that season, that hour. I honestly wouldn't. I don't know why I had to go through it, but what I got out of it was so beautiful and freeing on the other side.

Christ is enough. I don't say it lightly or flippantly. It's not just a part of my "Christianese," a phrase I know I should say. He really and truly is. In the throne room of heaven and here on earth, He is enough for you.

Guest Post

I did a guest post for the Awaken Church blog recently: 

“We are spared every second of every day because God has a plan for deliverance of all people and He uses us to proclaim that deliverance. If we are not doing that, if we are not sharing the Word of God and His salvation, then we are no better than Jonah because we are running from the very thing He has called us to do with our lives.”

As I sat on a wooden bench in a church building with concrete walls and floor and a tin roof, open windows and doors allowing the occasional lizard to walk down the aisles and between the benches I thought, “This. This is what the Church should be.” Our morning had already been filled with prayer and songs of praise, worship, and surrender. Not songs set to any instrument, but just our voices, crying out to God and worshipping the King.

To read the rest of this blog, click here.

Acquaint thyself with God

"We Christians are the Church and whatever we do is what the Church is doing... Any forward step in the Church must begin with the individual... Acquaint thyself with God." (A.W. Tozer)

We're really good at calling out the Church for its shortcomings. I include myself in that. I have a lot of hang-ups with certain things about the Church. Some of my favorite blog writers are ones who often post very opinionated pieces on the Church (generally its failures). 

And so when I came across this quote from Tozer, it hit me pretty hard. First it reminded me that the Church is flawed because it is made up of flawed sinners who are only redeemed by the grace of God. Then it reminded to not be so quick to point my finger at the Church.

The Church shouldn't be so judgmental.
The Church shouldn't be so condescending.
The Church should be a better reflection of Christ to the world.
The Church should move outside the four walls of a building and into the streets.
The Church should get back to the gospel. A church service isn't a show.

And on and on the list could go.

It's easy to point out the failures of the Church. And there are many voices doing just that. And I may not do it from this blog, but I'm quick to do it in conversations with my friends. 

But what about me? What about you? What if instead of pointing out the failures of the Church, we focused on ourselves and worried about acquainting ourselves with God in our individual lives? It might seem like it would only make a minute difference in the grand scheme of things, but if we truly became all-consumed with the glory and passion of God in our individual lives, then I can't help but think that would spill out to those around us and they would become motivated to acquaint themselves with God again. And maybe then, slowly, our churches, and the Church, would become more acquainted with God again. 

Transition

These days I am often encountered with some version of the question, "How's the transition going?" It pops up with people I know well and with those that I don't really know all that well but who know my story, or at least what they've read of it on this blog. So here's the answer:

It's going great. Honestly.

I had no idea what to expect coming back the States. Honestly, I thought I was going to be a complete and total mess. But, oh Jesus, He had other plans.

Coming home from Zambia was the hardest decision I ever made. And I'm just two months into this life back in the States, but I can tell you this--the Lord has been incredibly faithful. Faithful to provide for my every need. Faithful to give me constant and continual confirmation that He has me here, in Columbia, at this time for specific reasons and purposes. Faithful to continue to grow me and stretch me spiritually.

My biggest fear in coming home was that I would lose the intimacy I had with Jesus during my time in Zambia. Because here's the thing, when you live in a house with no one else to talk to, you have to talk to someone sometimes, and for me that person was Jesus. It was a wonderfully sweet fellowship that I had with him during those six months. When darkness clouded all around me, I could still cling tightly to Jesus and His Word and know He would see me through it all. I had never in my life experienced communion with our Lord like I did there. And I was just scared coming back that I would lose all that in the busyness of life here. And my life is very busy. But God has been so faithful to continue to grow the sweetness and intimacy of my relationship with Him, continued to grant me wisdom and discernment through His Spirit to know Him more.  

I'm not at all where I thought I would be right now. In fact, this is probably one of the last places I thought I would be today. And though I don't understand it at all, and maybe I never will, I know I'm where God has ordained for me to be today. How that fits in with the fact that I was called to Zambia about a year ago, I don't know and I don't claim to have the answers to that question.

But yes, transition is going great. And I give all the praise to Jesus for that. Because on my own, in my own strength, I know I'd be a hot mess right now. But God is so faithful, y'all. He's faithful to take the broken pieces of our heart and redeem them into something beautiful for His glory and renown. I've never been so completely and utterly humbled by the faithfulness of God as I have been in this season of transition in my life. I am so unworthy of His love and faithfulness. so unworthy. And yet He showers it on me and covers me in His grace. Hallelujah.

--

Side note: I want to again invite all of you to Awaken Church next Sunday (Sept 15) for the launch of our new series, JESUS > RELIGION. 

Jesus > Religion

I cannot wait for Awaken's next sermon series, starting September 15th. Jesus > Religion. In a culture, especially here in the South, where I so often see religion elevated over Jesus, I am thankful for an opportunity to be reminded that Jesus didn't come to condemn the world, like religion so often does, but save it. When Jesus said, "It is finished," it was done. Jesus clothed me in his righteousness. He didn't ask me to try to earn my salvation by following a set of religious rules. Because that can't be done. 

In thinking and praying about the next sermon series, I remembered the youtube video that went viral a year or two ago: Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus. It's a powerful testimony. 

I'd love for you to come join us on September 15th for the launch of this new series. You who have looked at the church and the Bible and said, "That doesn't match up," you're welcome here. You who have seen the hypocrisy of the church and said, "Not for me," you're welcome here. You who hate the church because of its failures, you're welcome here. You who love the church and Jesus, you're welcome here.

September 15th. 10:30am. Polo Road Elementary School. 

Sometimes kids just get it better than adults

"I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood." (Martin Luther King, "I Have a Dream" excerpt)

"Did he ever get to sit down at that table of brotherhood?"

Tears welled up in my eyes as she, a third grader, asked the question. She said it with such innocence and yet the weight of the question was so heavy. What do you say to that?

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. (Martin Luther King, "I Have a Dream" excerpt)

"I think it means that people should be judged based on what they do and not what they look like... what's on their inside, not the outside."

Amen. As this third grader shared his understanding of the MLK quote, I was left speechless, determined to remember it word for word so I could jot it down on a piece of paper as soon as I got back to my desk. I had chills.

While discussing the initiative to eliminate the homeless from the streets in Columbia, the kids seemed to be pretty unified in their view on the subject. "I think they should just help them instead." Yeah, me too, kid.

Because sometimes kids just get it so much better than adults. Their view isn't skewed by having to make this committee or that person happy. They see an injustice and it's as simple as that. There should be a solution. They should help them. People should be judged on their inside, not their outside; what they do, not what they look like.

Yeah, sometimes kids just get it better than adults.

Kids React

Discussions like this are one of the many reasons I love working with kids. 

A Letter to Lali

Over three years ago now, I spent a month in Georgia (the country) loving on some sweet orphans. Best summer of my life. I loved all the kids, but one little girl stole my heart. Her name was Lali. She changed my life. Some days, my heart still physically hurts from missing her. I haven't been able to talk to her since my time there, but if I could get a letter to her, this is what it would say.

Lali and I on our last day together

Lali,

I can’t believe it’s been three years since we met, sweet child. I miss you more every day. I never knew I could love someone as much as I love you, Lali. I hope you know that you are very, very loved. I think about you often, even three years after returning to the States. I wonder how you’re doing, what you’re learning in school, if you're still at the orphanage in Tskneti, and a thousand other things about you. I hate I had to leave you, Lali. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I never thought that after three years, the hole in my heart would still be this big after leaving you. But I think it just gets bigger as time goes on.

I think of you like a daughter, Lali. I love you like you are my daughter. I pray for you like you’re my daughter. In my heart, you will always be my first child. You were the first girl who ever called me “Mommy.” I will never forget how that felt and how my heart immediately changed when you called me your mother.

I still have the necklace you gave me the first day we met. Of all the necklaces I own, it's my favorite. I still have the book of pictures you drew for me. I keep a framed picture of us together. I even brought it all the way to Zambia with me when I lived there. You mean more to me than I think you will ever know.

You are a firecracker, child. Use that energy and fire for something good. You can change the world if you want to. I know you can. People listen to you and are drawn to you. Be a leader and lead them to good things. Treat others with kindness. Love people even when they don’t deserve it. Forgive the people who hurt you. Be a force for good, sweet girl.

I love you so much, Lali. More than you will ever know. Follow Jesus, sweet girl. I pray that somehow you can find the truth about who He is and follow Him. You could change the world for Jesus, Lali. I’m begging God to show Himself to you and for you to know and trust Him. Because God has great plans for you, little girl. Find Him and follow after Him with all your heart.

I love you forever,

Melanie

“Mommy”

The Answer to "What's Next?"

Two and a half years ago I entered into a family. I wouldn’t have told you that’s what was happening at the time, because I didn’t recognize it. At the time, I just thought I was fulfilling my requirements of student teaching and internships. Walking in the doors that first day, I knew my experience was going to be special. I knew I had been given a great opportunity to learn from some of the best. But a family? I didn’t realize I was getting that too.

I spent two semesters interning at this small school. I loved every second of it. But when I graduated in December of 2011, I pretty much thought this school had served its purpose in my life. The school had been great, taught me many things, blessed me with great relationships and mentors, and challenged me to be a better teacher. In my mind, their purpose had been served and exceeded all my expectations.

So a month later when grown-up world hit me and I realized my current job wasn’t going to be enough to pay the bills, I wasn’t sure what I would do. I did know I missed my kids though. I had some free time so I thought I’d go surprise them with a visit. I pulled into the parking lot one Monday morning, just planning to say hello. And I did that. But I also left with a part-time job. God answered my prayers and He also allowed me more time with my favorite kids. More time to learn and grow as a teacher. In the six months that followed I was able to get to know more than just my 22. I formed relationships with more of the staff. They became not just my mentors, but my friends. 

And then, when I had yet another time of uncertainty, God used this school to provide for my needs again. I had these awkward couple of months before leaving for training for Zambia, and I wasn’t really sure what to do with them. I wasn’t anticipating being able to get any type of job in the school system because I could only work for six weeks. But instead, I was given a full-time job by this school for those six weeks.

Maybe you’re reading this thinking, that’s cool. What a nice school. But it’s more than that. It’s hard for me to put into words what this school, or more specifically the people (small and tall) who make it up, mean to me. While I was in Zambia, they were some of my biggest supporters and encouragers. I got packages. I got letters. I got e-mails. I got a yearbook signed by every single student and staff member. Every single one. I really do consider them family. I’m not sure at what point they became my family. Maybe it was in those last six weeks before leaving for Zambia that I realized just how at home I felt there. How much I loved and felt loved. How much I learned and how much I taught. Maybe it was some time before then.

And so entering into this current season of transition, I thought it was probably too much to expect that God would once again use this school to meet my needs. But as God so often does, He has exceeded my expectations and is allowing me to rejoin my family for the next school year starting in August. To say I am thankful is an understatement. To say I’m humbled doesn’t even begin to cover it. To say that the thought of seeing my kids on the first day of school doesn’t give me chills and bring tears to my eyes would be a lie. Because I’m going home. Back to my family. And I can’t think of anywhere else I’d want to be for the "what's next" of my life.