Jesus is funny.
Someone called me today telling me that they had a delivery of flowers for me, but they needed to confirm my address. My first thought? Oh dear, someone's trying to prank me... or rob me. I'm not going to give out my address to a stranger. So I gave my apartment number, but not the address, and held my breath.
Then the doorbell rang. Who was it? A sweet, old lady, with beautiful flowers in her hands. Mom sent me flowers to celebrate me coming on full time staff.
Ok Jesus. I get it. I'll stop thinking worst-case-scenario and actually let you love me. :)
Surprises
In LaFe the other night, Jennifer drew out this implication from John 4: "When Jesus does something that surprises us, we should ask Him about it. Maybe there is a deeper lesson He has for us."
What has Jesus done that has surprised me lately? Everything. After filling out a 30 page application and going to a full day interview, I received a phone call from Tracey, one of the area directors for Intervarsity. What was I expecting?: "As we consider you for full time staff, we'd like you to go visit these five campuses... There really is no room for you at UCLA. I'm sorry."
What did she actually say? "I would love to invite you to full time staff... at UCLA." Period.
That's it? Really? You're not going to make me go visit five other campuses first? Three months ago, I was told that there are too many staff at UCLA and that I shouldn't even see it as an option. And immediately my heart had sunk. It sunk almost as low as it had when I found out Dad and Desi died. Seriously? No possibility? But this is where I've spent all my time and energy and love for almost 6 years now. And it's just going to be stripped away like that? But I have to consider the big picture. Some campuses have no staff. How selfish of me.
But as much as I tried to separate myself from what I knew - as much as I tried to envision myself anywhere else, I just couldn't. I love this campus. Deeply. And to leave it would be grief. Serious grief.
But now, they're letting me stay.
And then the second surprise came. A conversation about who I might be leading at UCLA. One of the biggest things that broke my heart about having to leave UCLA, was the thought of leaving LaFe. But we just started. We've just gotten momentum. I love them so much. I love Latino students on this campus. How could I say goodbye so quickly?
And so now what did I expect to hear? "We'll let you stay at UCLA, but we don't want you to lead LaFe. You're not Latino. They need a Latino leader. It was good for you for a year, but not longer than that."
But what did they actually say? "It'd be great for you to continue to be a part of the leadership in LaFe next year." Wait. What? Seriously? Who I am to get to continue to lead them?
And then Jesus stopped me. "Why are you so surprised? Why is your first assumption always the worst case scenario? Don't you believe that I want to give good gifts to my children?"
Of course, Jesus....
But no. I don't. Not deep down. What about all those times that you called me to leave the very things I loved so much? Like soccer, and band, and a lead role in a play, and the opportunity to do theater in college? And what about all the people in my life who you've taken away? My boyfriend? Desi? Close friendships? MY DAD???? And what about all the people in my life who are suffering right now? What about those who are hunting for jobs and just not finding them? What about those who would love to do what I'm doing right now but can't, for whatever reason? You don't give good gifts to your kids. Or you might... but then you quickly take them away.
And then Mike's talk came back to me. "We have to see our circumstances in light of who God is, and not the other way around."
What if I've been seeing God wrongly for all these years? He says He delights in giving good gifts to His children. So I have to believe that's true.
No, I am not a cruel God - out to take away everything good. I love you. I want so much more for you. And I've been shaping you all this time for this. To be a part of the movement at UCLA. Kelly - That love you have for this campus and for Latino students...that's from me. And it brings me so much joy to give you more opportunities to do what you were made to do.
Thank you Jesus. That's all I can say. The next five years of my life will be spent here. At UCLA. Loving college students. Living by a weird schedule and in an old apartment with no parking. Spending my evenings with people much younger than myself. Teaching and training and urging others to join the movement. And I have never felt more spoiled. More privileged. More in awe of God.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you!!!
What has Jesus done that has surprised me lately? Everything. After filling out a 30 page application and going to a full day interview, I received a phone call from Tracey, one of the area directors for Intervarsity. What was I expecting?: "As we consider you for full time staff, we'd like you to go visit these five campuses... There really is no room for you at UCLA. I'm sorry."
What did she actually say? "I would love to invite you to full time staff... at UCLA." Period.
That's it? Really? You're not going to make me go visit five other campuses first? Three months ago, I was told that there are too many staff at UCLA and that I shouldn't even see it as an option. And immediately my heart had sunk. It sunk almost as low as it had when I found out Dad and Desi died. Seriously? No possibility? But this is where I've spent all my time and energy and love for almost 6 years now. And it's just going to be stripped away like that? But I have to consider the big picture. Some campuses have no staff. How selfish of me.
But as much as I tried to separate myself from what I knew - as much as I tried to envision myself anywhere else, I just couldn't. I love this campus. Deeply. And to leave it would be grief. Serious grief.
But now, they're letting me stay.
And then the second surprise came. A conversation about who I might be leading at UCLA. One of the biggest things that broke my heart about having to leave UCLA, was the thought of leaving LaFe. But we just started. We've just gotten momentum. I love them so much. I love Latino students on this campus. How could I say goodbye so quickly?
And so now what did I expect to hear? "We'll let you stay at UCLA, but we don't want you to lead LaFe. You're not Latino. They need a Latino leader. It was good for you for a year, but not longer than that."
But what did they actually say? "It'd be great for you to continue to be a part of the leadership in LaFe next year." Wait. What? Seriously? Who I am to get to continue to lead them?
And then Jesus stopped me. "Why are you so surprised? Why is your first assumption always the worst case scenario? Don't you believe that I want to give good gifts to my children?"
Of course, Jesus....
But no. I don't. Not deep down. What about all those times that you called me to leave the very things I loved so much? Like soccer, and band, and a lead role in a play, and the opportunity to do theater in college? And what about all the people in my life who you've taken away? My boyfriend? Desi? Close friendships? MY DAD???? And what about all the people in my life who are suffering right now? What about those who are hunting for jobs and just not finding them? What about those who would love to do what I'm doing right now but can't, for whatever reason? You don't give good gifts to your kids. Or you might... but then you quickly take them away.
And then Mike's talk came back to me. "We have to see our circumstances in light of who God is, and not the other way around."
What if I've been seeing God wrongly for all these years? He says He delights in giving good gifts to His children. So I have to believe that's true.
No, I am not a cruel God - out to take away everything good. I love you. I want so much more for you. And I've been shaping you all this time for this. To be a part of the movement at UCLA. Kelly - That love you have for this campus and for Latino students...that's from me. And it brings me so much joy to give you more opportunities to do what you were made to do.
Thank you Jesus. That's all I can say. The next five years of my life will be spent here. At UCLA. Loving college students. Living by a weird schedule and in an old apartment with no parking. Spending my evenings with people much younger than myself. Teaching and training and urging others to join the movement. And I have never felt more spoiled. More privileged. More in awe of God.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you!!!
Rich Moments
I finally watched the new Star Trek movie tonight. I'm a little embarrassed to say I really liked it. Does that make me a nerd? Probably. My dad loved Star Trek. In fact, after he died and we were cleaning out his desk, we found a Star Trek action figure. I believe when I found it, I rolled my eyes and muttered "Oh dad..." But now I can kind of see why he liked it so much. He was an engineer. A lover of physics. And he delighted in dreaming up worlds that defied all the rules of his text books but yet somehow seemed believable. His childhood dream was to invent a hover board. (Different movie, I know.)
For some reason, in the last month, I've had several rich moments of both delighting in the memory of dad and grieving the loss of him. I sat at our large group meeting a couple weeks ago and saw Jerome for the first time after he came back from sabbatical. The first thought in my head was, Wow...There's so much to tell him. What will I choose to share? How long will it take to catch up? 6 months is a long time. And then, almost immediately, my mind went to my dad. 6 months is a long time. 5 years is even longer. How much has gone by since I talked to dad. So much has happened. How will we possibly catch up on everything? Will I even remember everything once I get to see him again?
And then I heard a gentle voice, Kelly, What would you tell him if he were here?
I would tell him that Wendi's married. And Ben has a girlfriend. I'm applying for full time staff. Did you ever think I'd be in full time ministry dad? You always thought I'd be a writer. Or an actress. Maybe I'll get to do both. :) And I'd tell him that mom's doing ok. She stayed at church like you told her to, and they're treating her well. And I'd tell him about all the spiritual conversations and Bible studies we've had at work. And about all the cross cultural encounters I've had. And how a man just joined our lab from China. Third day there he was studying the Bible! I'd tell him that I've been running a lot... sometimes 6 miles to the beach! I'd tell him I've gotten to give talks about social justice and racial reconciliation and that I'm leading a group of Latino students. You'd be glad for that, huh dad? I'd tell him about all God's been doing in my heart - how He's teaching me how to live healthily and not make work my life. I'd tell him that, when I'm at work, I often think about how he was a witness at his work, and wonder what he would do to love his coworkers.
Jesus, how will I remember it all? It's only been 5 years. What will happen when ten or twenty or fifty years go by? And then, as tears began to fall, I heard the same gentle voice. I will help you remember. But if you want, I'm here with him right now so I can tell him. More tears.
A few days later, the same voice gently spoke again. Kelly, you think you'll have a lot to tell your dad. But think how much we'll have to talk about. And we'll have all eternity to do it.
Back again, in our large group meeting last week, I thought of dad again. As Mike shared his story about his dad, I couldn't help but think of memories of my own. I imagined him tugging on my hair like he always did, bouncing on his toes a little bit in pride and joy, with a small grin on his face. And then Mike talked about how we see God as cruel sometimes, just out to get us. And my heart began to stir. No, I know that's not true. God gave me the best dad ever....
I know I did. In fact, you and your dad are one of my most beautiful creations. I'm so pleased with that.
And then the anger came. Well then, why did you take him away? Why did you have to take him away, God? If it was a beautiful creation, why did you destroy it? More tears.
And then Mike continued. But we have to see our circumstances in light of who God is and not the other way around. Ok, God. I know you're good. I DO know that. I know. I know.... You're good. Help my unbelief.
Rich. Yes, I do believe that's the best word to describe these moments. Not all painful. Not all filled with anger. Not all joyful. But rich.
For some reason, in the last month, I've had several rich moments of both delighting in the memory of dad and grieving the loss of him. I sat at our large group meeting a couple weeks ago and saw Jerome for the first time after he came back from sabbatical. The first thought in my head was, Wow...There's so much to tell him. What will I choose to share? How long will it take to catch up? 6 months is a long time. And then, almost immediately, my mind went to my dad. 6 months is a long time. 5 years is even longer. How much has gone by since I talked to dad. So much has happened. How will we possibly catch up on everything? Will I even remember everything once I get to see him again?
And then I heard a gentle voice, Kelly, What would you tell him if he were here?
I would tell him that Wendi's married. And Ben has a girlfriend. I'm applying for full time staff. Did you ever think I'd be in full time ministry dad? You always thought I'd be a writer. Or an actress. Maybe I'll get to do both. :) And I'd tell him that mom's doing ok. She stayed at church like you told her to, and they're treating her well. And I'd tell him about all the spiritual conversations and Bible studies we've had at work. And about all the cross cultural encounters I've had. And how a man just joined our lab from China. Third day there he was studying the Bible! I'd tell him that I've been running a lot... sometimes 6 miles to the beach! I'd tell him I've gotten to give talks about social justice and racial reconciliation and that I'm leading a group of Latino students. You'd be glad for that, huh dad? I'd tell him about all God's been doing in my heart - how He's teaching me how to live healthily and not make work my life. I'd tell him that, when I'm at work, I often think about how he was a witness at his work, and wonder what he would do to love his coworkers.
Jesus, how will I remember it all? It's only been 5 years. What will happen when ten or twenty or fifty years go by? And then, as tears began to fall, I heard the same gentle voice. I will help you remember. But if you want, I'm here with him right now so I can tell him. More tears.
A few days later, the same voice gently spoke again. Kelly, you think you'll have a lot to tell your dad. But think how much we'll have to talk about. And we'll have all eternity to do it.
Back again, in our large group meeting last week, I thought of dad again. As Mike shared his story about his dad, I couldn't help but think of memories of my own. I imagined him tugging on my hair like he always did, bouncing on his toes a little bit in pride and joy, with a small grin on his face. And then Mike talked about how we see God as cruel sometimes, just out to get us. And my heart began to stir. No, I know that's not true. God gave me the best dad ever....
I know I did. In fact, you and your dad are one of my most beautiful creations. I'm so pleased with that.
And then the anger came. Well then, why did you take him away? Why did you have to take him away, God? If it was a beautiful creation, why did you destroy it? More tears.
And then Mike continued. But we have to see our circumstances in light of who God is and not the other way around. Ok, God. I know you're good. I DO know that. I know. I know.... You're good. Help my unbelief.
Rich. Yes, I do believe that's the best word to describe these moments. Not all painful. Not all filled with anger. Not all joyful. But rich.
Why is following Jesus so hard?
A question I have asked myself quite frequently these days. Not in a bitter or even mournful sense, but in a "Wow, my muscles are feeling the strain of picking up my cross daily" type way. It is almost like walking through a room of swinging punching bags, hoping to make it out in the end without too many bruises, but fully knowing that there is no other way to go.
For with every longing for healing, there is a new invitation to confess and seek forgiveness. With every desire for deeper relationships, comes a command to reconcile. With every cry for intimacy with the Father, comes a call to burn the idols. And with every prayer for a friend comes a challenge to take another risk.
Following Jesus is hard. I feel it. But I wouldn't have it any other way. For with every confession comes healing. And every hard conversation comes a deeper friendship. And with every seemingly good thing that gets ripped out of life, comes a restored connection to the only one who can truly satisfy. And with every risk, comes an incredible joy of seeing the looks on faces of those who have just sipped from the Living Water for the first time.
And so, as I go to sleep at the end of the day, I say, "Father. It's been hard. But rich. And so worth it. So thank you. Amen"
For with every longing for healing, there is a new invitation to confess and seek forgiveness. With every desire for deeper relationships, comes a command to reconcile. With every cry for intimacy with the Father, comes a call to burn the idols. And with every prayer for a friend comes a challenge to take another risk.
Following Jesus is hard. I feel it. But I wouldn't have it any other way. For with every confession comes healing. And every hard conversation comes a deeper friendship. And with every seemingly good thing that gets ripped out of life, comes a restored connection to the only one who can truly satisfy. And with every risk, comes an incredible joy of seeing the looks on faces of those who have just sipped from the Living Water for the first time.
And so, as I go to sleep at the end of the day, I say, "Father. It's been hard. But rich. And so worth it. So thank you. Amen"
Spoken Word for Christmas
Every year I write some sort of spoken word/ poetry for Christmas. Here's what I wrote for this previous Christmas:
"He is."
Promised…
To be the founder of a nation,
To set a people free,
To receive a land to call home
To be given a king,
To see Jew and Gentile
Finally reconcile,
To have eyes opened
To see the sick healed
The poor made rich
And the hungry made full…
They wait.
Holding only to signs
Of colors in the sky
Of a fiery bush
Of a star in the East
Of a catch of fish
Of a sheet of pigs
Of the words
of a revolutionist
on a hill
about a kingdom
drawing near.
I wonder.
Can I dare to dream
Of this heaven on earth
Where friends re-unite
And Dads love their kids
Where work is something all can attain
But is never one’s bane.
Where purpose and joy
And freedom and life
Are the most prevalent words
of our time.
To hope
is a brave feat -
To willingly put yourself
In a tug – of –war
Between absolute joy
And brutal reality –
To dream of what could be
And wake up to what is
Day after day
After day.
But to know
That that yearning for more
Was actually knit into our very being
From day one
As we looked both back and ahead to
Paradise –
And that hope is not just some
wishful thinking for a
fairy tale world,
but that we are people
who have been promised.
THAT gives us courage to dream.
We have been promised…
A world
Where the sick are healed
The poor are rich
The hungry are full…
And as we join those before us
to wait…
we hold on to the greatest sign of all –
Our savior is here.
He is our hope.
He is our promise.
Jesus – let your kingdom come.
Amen.
"He is."
Promised…
To be the founder of a nation,
To set a people free,
To receive a land to call home
To be given a king,
To see Jew and Gentile
Finally reconcile,
To have eyes opened
To see the sick healed
The poor made rich
And the hungry made full…
They wait.
Holding only to signs
Of colors in the sky
Of a fiery bush
Of a star in the East
Of a catch of fish
Of a sheet of pigs
Of the words
of a revolutionist
on a hill
about a kingdom
drawing near.
I wonder.
Can I dare to dream
Of this heaven on earth
Where friends re-unite
And Dads love their kids
Where work is something all can attain
But is never one’s bane.
Where purpose and joy
And freedom and life
Are the most prevalent words
of our time.
To hope
is a brave feat -
To willingly put yourself
In a tug – of –war
Between absolute joy
And brutal reality –
To dream of what could be
And wake up to what is
Day after day
After day.
But to know
That that yearning for more
Was actually knit into our very being
From day one
As we looked both back and ahead to
Paradise –
And that hope is not just some
wishful thinking for a
fairy tale world,
but that we are people
who have been promised.
THAT gives us courage to dream.
We have been promised…
A world
Where the sick are healed
The poor are rich
The hungry are full…
And as we join those before us
to wait…
we hold on to the greatest sign of all –
Our savior is here.
He is our hope.
He is our promise.
Jesus – let your kingdom come.
Amen.
The other 10% of my thoughts:
Numbers 21: "So Moses made a snake out of bronze and attached it to a pole. Then anyone who was bitten by a snake could look at the bronze snake and be healed!"
John 3:14: "And as Moses lifted up the bronze snake on a pole in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him will have eternal life."
Implication: Just look at Jesus and you'll be healed.
I don't know how many times, in the midst of intense pain in the last couple of weeks, I've heard a small voice say: Worship me. Think of me. Put your eyes on me. And really, more than any drug, or mind-numbing episode of the "Office," more than any prayer or word of comfort from friends, putting my eyes on Jesus has been the most healing of all. Those moments in church, singing, You have overcome the grave, your glory fills the highest place - studying about Jesus tonight and seeing how much He yearns for people to know Him - singing I believe that you're my healer at Catalyst, closing my eyes and seeing Him stroking my back like a gentle mother and whispering It's ok baby, I've got you...just a little longer - It was in these times that I felt the most relief - the most joy - the most peace - the most healing.
Just to look at Jesus brings healing. I really believe it.
And there have been moments in the last couple of weeks where I have felt my heart burning with desire for my friends to see Jesus too - for them to be able to fall in love with Him and to experience the healing that I have. Sometimes that desire for my friends is so overwhelming that I almost cannot take it anymore. How do I show them who Jesus really is? How do I point them away from myself and to Jesus? Sometimes I literally just want to sit them all down and shake them and say "Look at Jesus! Oh, if you only knew!!! He is so wonderful. Just to look at Him will bring you healing."
Mike said that advent is a time of waiting. And that's exactly what I feel right now. Waiting. I have seen Jesus...but not fully. I have seen Him work in small conversations and prayers at work. I've seen Him bring me moments of relief and tastes of healing. But not fully. And at times, I'm given a vision of what it will be like to see Jesus in His full glory and it is the most wonderful thing in the world. But then I'm quickly brought back into the reality that the kingdom has not fully come yet. And I must wait. And pray. And yearn. And hope. It is a good place to be, I suppose. Terribly frustrating and purposeful, all at the same time.
I want to see Jesus. I want others to see Him. Emmanuel, Adonai, Father, Shalom, Prince of Peace, Hope of all the Earth - let us know you. Let us see you. So we might be totally and completely healed.
Amen.
John 3:14: "And as Moses lifted up the bronze snake on a pole in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him will have eternal life."
Implication: Just look at Jesus and you'll be healed.
I don't know how many times, in the midst of intense pain in the last couple of weeks, I've heard a small voice say: Worship me. Think of me. Put your eyes on me. And really, more than any drug, or mind-numbing episode of the "Office," more than any prayer or word of comfort from friends, putting my eyes on Jesus has been the most healing of all. Those moments in church, singing, You have overcome the grave, your glory fills the highest place - studying about Jesus tonight and seeing how much He yearns for people to know Him - singing I believe that you're my healer at Catalyst, closing my eyes and seeing Him stroking my back like a gentle mother and whispering It's ok baby, I've got you...just a little longer - It was in these times that I felt the most relief - the most joy - the most peace - the most healing.
Just to look at Jesus brings healing. I really believe it.
And there have been moments in the last couple of weeks where I have felt my heart burning with desire for my friends to see Jesus too - for them to be able to fall in love with Him and to experience the healing that I have. Sometimes that desire for my friends is so overwhelming that I almost cannot take it anymore. How do I show them who Jesus really is? How do I point them away from myself and to Jesus? Sometimes I literally just want to sit them all down and shake them and say "Look at Jesus! Oh, if you only knew!!! He is so wonderful. Just to look at Him will bring you healing."
Mike said that advent is a time of waiting. And that's exactly what I feel right now. Waiting. I have seen Jesus...but not fully. I have seen Him work in small conversations and prayers at work. I've seen Him bring me moments of relief and tastes of healing. But not fully. And at times, I'm given a vision of what it will be like to see Jesus in His full glory and it is the most wonderful thing in the world. But then I'm quickly brought back into the reality that the kingdom has not fully come yet. And I must wait. And pray. And yearn. And hope. It is a good place to be, I suppose. Terribly frustrating and purposeful, all at the same time.
I want to see Jesus. I want others to see Him. Emmanuel, Adonai, Father, Shalom, Prince of Peace, Hope of all the Earth - let us know you. Let us see you. So we might be totally and completely healed.
Amen.
90% of my thoughts from the last 5 days:
Jesus, I'm so tired of being in pain. Please bring me relief...It hurts. A lot. Amen.