Awe or fear?

If you are following Christ, would you say you are more: 1) filled with awe, or 2) overwhelmed with fear?  When a crowd was following Jesus toward Jerusalem, it says in Mark: “…Jesus was walking ahead of them.  The disciples were filled with awe, and the people following behind were overwhelmed with fear.” (NLT 10:32)

As I move into the next phase of my destiny, I find I’m going between awe and fear a lot.  About every other day or two I’m filled with awe at God’s nearness, and at the details of where, and how, He is leading me.

When I asked Him, about exactly three years ago, to write a better story with my life – a story that would bring Him great glory – my faith was small, mustard-seed-size.  Now, only three short years later, I’m moved to tears as I type this, as I consider how He took me seriously (I did mean it), and how He has been working to do just that, I believe, as I walk with Him.

Yet, there are those every other days, when I’m not filled with much, or any, awe.  That’s when I’m one of those people who are still following Jesus, but I am behind the disciples, and overwhelmed with fear.  Those days I need to remember to move up closer to my Lord – to move out of the fear, and back into the awe zone.

And, of course, awe doesn’t mean “no pain.”  Who doubts the awe that surrounded Him on the painful cross, when He surrendered His life to the accompaniment of darkness, an earthquake, and a dramatically torn veil in the temple?  Yet, fear lurks just beyond the awe…  I so easily drift out of awe and into fear.

Drawing near to my Lord is where I want to be and where I’m always welcome.  It’s really up to me.  Am I going to be filled with His Spirit, walking in awe close to Him?  Or am I going to lag a bit behind – still a follower, but filled with fear as I shuffle along, barely able to glimpse my Lord up ahead?  Awe or fear – which is it going to be?

The new normal

A couple of weeks ago I sent the following paragraph to a friend.  It was in response to things taking place in our respective lives, and to her sending me the story of David and Goliath out of I Samuel.  She felt my reply needed to be in a blog.  So here it is:

We can, and need to, become comfortable with humanly unbelievable, incredibly uncanny, remarkably providential happenings.  And if it is too much for me to take in, then it’s more about me and less about God, and it needs to be all about Him.  And if it is all about Him…shouldn’t I expect remarkable things?  And evil retorts?  Incredible difficulties and fantastic successes – both?  This is the life of His believing child.  It should not surprise me…or overwhelm me.  It is the new normal because the wall is down and I am moving into the promised land of His promises.

As I read this again today, I’m so aware of life’s mixture of mundane and remarkable. Some days I’m the lonely shepherd boy, simply doing the work of tending sheep and desiring something much more exciting. And then the next day I’m still that shepherd boy, but now the adrenaline’s pumping as I face a scary, evil giant…or as God’s supernatural workings in my life have amazed me almost beyond comprehension.

This is the new normal.  May God grant me the ability to live it.

Isaiah phoned me?

This week my friend Becky said, “It’s like we walk into a room and there are two chairs.  One says ‘hope’ and one says ‘despair.’  We get to choose which chair we want to sit in.”  She went on to say that she isn’t one of those who believe we should never feel sad or process our grief, but we can still choose hope.  I added, “That’s right…we can be sitting in the hope chair with tears of grief running down our face, but we have chosen hope over despair.”

I don’t know about anyone who might read this, but I sure needed that reminder of my hope choice, this week.  You see after my last post on Sept. 3, it was announced that my workplace organization is closing at the end of this year.  That means it is time for me to find something new to do…to find a new way to pay for the expenses of life.  And how interesting that this announcement came nine days after blogging about being led to stand…  “Really Lord, how can I stand right now?  I need to find a new job!”  And His sweet, quiet voice, “Do you trust me?  Do you trust that you know my voice, and that I know what I’m doing?”

It has been quite the time of standing, as I experience what He brings my way.  I’m exploring a fantastic opportunity right now that presented itself by coming to me from a coastal state.  Yet I won’t lie…even with that exciting potential option, I’ve been challenged in my faith.  Challenged to speak, think and live closely with my Lord – so close, in fact, that I can do something against quick reason and logic.  So close that I can simply stand and trust in faith, as I listen and explore from this calm vantage point.

Early this morning my phone was ringing in a dream...  As I peered at my Blackberry, still in my dream, I saw that ”Isaiah” was the incoming caller.  Right then I woke up.  I was puzzled.  The only Isaiah I know is three years old and doesn’t own a phone yet.  As I made coffee, I wondered about the dream…  And then as curled up on the sofa for my luxurious Saturday morning reading, I thought, “Maybe God has a message for me in the book of Isaiah.”  So I started reading in chapter one, praying, “Lord, if you want to speak something to me from Isaiah, please show me what you want me to know.”  I was urged on and kept reading, until I got to chapter seven, verse 9:

Unless your faith is firm, I cannot make you stand firm.

I stared at that verse, and some tears welled up within me...

It’s been hard to stand, even with a great opportunity to explore, because, well, it takes faith – faith in the unseen...faith that my Lord is real and knows what He’s talking about.  It takes faith to know that He loves me and has my ultimate best in mind.  And that I'm talented enough for whatever lies ahead...  No person would fault me for moving around anxiously right now; I have good human reason to do so.  But I don’t follow people – I follow Christ.  So I stand, in faith.

And in faith we choose to have hope, and sit in the chair called hope.  And as we do, His Spirit fills us with hope, and helps us to trust.

Lost in Ecuador

The last few days I’ve been crying out to God for direction.  His Word and the Holy Spirit seem to be telling me what to do, but it’s one of my least favorite activities, especially in situations begging for a different response.  Well, this morning as I talked to my Heavenly Father about this and asked for clarity regarding my next steps, He brought to mind a story from a mission trip to Ecuador about a dozen or so years ago.

When my middle son was in high school, I was one of three leader chaperones on a church youth mission trip to Quito, Ecuador.  We were helping the locals mix mortar and stack bricks to put up walls of a church, just outside the city.  The story God brought to my mind this morning, however, took place on our day off.  The mission organization had arranged for a bus and driver to take us, and a partner group from Michigan, to the large, South American market in the village of Otavalo.

We parked on a side street and had a delightful couple of hours shopping in a place overflowing with beautiful sweaters, jewelry, pottery, and with people visiting from all over the world.  Our instructions were to return to the bus at a certain time for departure.  I noted the time, noted the place we were parked, and set off – alone – on my shopping adventure.

As I walked up and down the streets of the village lined with tables of beautiful wares, I kept track of where I was in relation to our bus.  As the final thirty minutes prior to departure approached, I ran into a couple from the Michigan group who asked my advice for getting back to the bus.  I correctly directed them, saying I was almost ready to head back myself.  And then I turned down one final street to visit one final table of sweaters…

On my journey back to the bus, I had been deliberately going down side streets only to the right, and this time, I selected a side street to the left.  So what I know now is: when I got back to the main street after this final excursion, and granted, now in a bit of a hurry, I headed in the opposite – wrong – direction from the bus, yet completely sure I was still on track.

Looking down every side street in the approximate area I knew the bus to be, from having counted the number of blocks I traveled down the main avenue, I saw a bus down every street…but not my bus.  It wasn’t long before all the streets, buses and people looked exactly alike.  I began to get nervous, but maintained an external calm.  We had no cell phones with us, so there was no one I could call.  Our bus had no name, nor did the street, so there were no facts to direct...  And almost everyone spoke only Spanish, so even if I could accurately describe my predicament, who would understand my English?

Time rolled on as I nervously paced up and down streets looking for my bus…  I became more frantic as I realized one hour had gone by, and I kept telling myself, “They won’t leave Otavalo without me.”  I had been praying for God’s help, and yet I continued to be lost.  The tears were being held back by less and less resolve, and a few started to well up as I approached despair.  Then I heard a little voice in my head say: Go to the middle of the street and just stand still.  They will find you.

I recognized this was a voice of wisdom, likely from God, so I followed it.  Surely by now they were looking for me; maybe this will help.  I stood in the middle of the street (full of pedestrians and only a very seldom vehicle) for about five seconds.  It seemed like five hours.  And then I instinctively began to walk...  But something inside me commanded me to go back – to just stand still.  Every bit of strength left in me was needed as I literally forced myself to stand in the middle of that foreign street.

Have you ever tried to stand in one place when you’re lost?  If panic is settling in, I will tell you it can take an act of God to do this.  Every cell in your being wants to move.  You desperately want to squirm out of your circumstance, determined to find your answer…your hope.  Standing still feels wrong.  It feels scary and vulnerable.  It feels defeating.

But it worked!  After no more than three minutes of standing still, I heard a voice from heaven, I mean from another mission trip leader (at that point, one and the same), yelling, “Ann!”  He was running down the middle of the street toward me.  I was never so happy to see anyone in my life.

When I asked him how he found me, he said, “I figured out you must have gotten turned around." (A super kind understatement...)  "I decided you were probably wandering the streets exactly diagonal from where we were.”  He was right: I was on the opposite side of the main street, on the opposite end of town.  And when I finally stood still, I was no longer a moving “target.”  I could be found.

So what is it that God is saying to me today?  I believe He’s saying, “Stand still, dear Annie.  Wait.  Your destiny will find you.”  Standing still is one of the most difficult things to do...

Walls are identified

So I’ve discovered what the walls are – the ones I’m “praying down.”  (And likely, the walls you encounter, as well?)  You see, one day I decided it might be good to identify what the walls in my life actually are.  What am I truly seeking to remove in Jesus’ name?  (It might even have been desirable to know this ahead of time...)  Granted, I had no doubt that I was running into barriers of some sort…into something keeping me from a “promised land.”  But I hadn’t actually figured out what the walls were; I just felt confident they existed.

Well, now I know.  The walls are fear - every single one of them.

And identifying these walls has helped me recognize them more quickly, so that I can take appropriate action.  Now when a wall is detected, I command a “no fear” response in myself, enlisting the name of Jesus for the power to knock it down.  And do you know what has been happening almost every time?  The momentum turns.  Whatever “enemy” may have been cowering behind the wall either runs for cover or is caught in the light of truth.  Peace and strength move forward in Jesus’ name and for God’s glory.

I can tell God is using this particular truth in my life.  A wave of God’s unstoppable mercy, grace and power is being unleashed…  The walls of fear are crumbling.

Jericho prayer walks

Lately I’ve been involved in some warfare of the spiritual kind.  I feel like I don’t often know who my "enemies" are, yet I do know there’s an unseen world where battles for hearts are raging.  If I want my life story to count for the Lord’s glory, then I cannot shrink from battle.

So one tactic a friend and I have been using this spring and summer was inspired by the Biblical story of Joshua and the battle of Jericho…  My friend and I have been practicing what we call: Jericho prayer walks.

Whenever we can – usually once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less – she and I march around our "walls" and pray them down in Jesus’ name.  Now if you’re not a follower of Christ, this may seem odd to you; I understand, and assure you we’re really not weird. J  And if you are a follower of Christ, it may also seem a bit extreme to you, but I don’t think it should…  Because let me tell you: there are "walls," there are "enemies" behind them, and there is victory for all who believe and “march” and pray in faith in Jesus’ name!  We’ve experienced this...

So what does a Jericho prayer walk – our version – look like?  Well, I live a mile from downtown, so my friend comes to my house and we walk the mile downtown.  First, we chat and catch up on our lives and what the Lord’s been doing.  Usually that’s the first half-mile or so…  Then we take turns praying, inviting the Spirit of Jesus to guide our prayers.  Well, before we know it we’re downtown, where we have coffee or an iced tea at the local coffee shop, sometimes with food, and continue our catching up as friends.  And then we start the walk home – usually a mile full of praise and requests and heart “battle cries,” if you will.

By the time we get back to my house we’re so full of God’s peace and presence that I think we are both glowing.  A sweat enhanced glow, perhaps...

Okay, so the bottom line that I believe is intended for anyone who reads this is: do you have faith in the one true God?  And if you do: do you take Him at His Word?  You might want to consider gathering with a fellow follower of Christ, and pray down some walls in your individual lives.  You never know, until you try something like this in faith, what it might please Him to do.

And, for the record, these walks are not about our faithfulness (mine is flawed) - or about the glory of this particular tactic.  They are about the glory of our Heavenly Father, and the power we have through Jesus Christ and His Spirit working in us.  They are about His faithfulness and His desire to be in a relationship with us.  They are about His working beyond what we could even ask or think...  Praise Him!

God and enemies

This week God is showing me something new about enemies.  First, He gets to decide who they are; and second, He chooses to bring Himself glory through them.

There have been, and continue to be, times in my life when I simply can’t believe that someone, or some organization, is treating me a certain way.  Yet very rarely do I think to myself, “Well, I guess that person/organization is my enemy.”  More often I will think, “What more could I be doing to get that person/organization to like me?”  Or: “How could I facilitate this situation with them in such a way that will bring about a reasonable and palatable result for both of us?  There must be something God will help me do to turn this nasty thing around.  Or perhaps my prayers are not yet adequate for this difficult situation?”

This thinking comes from a place of believing that God can work anything out for good.  Yet, it also can come from an arrogant (sinful) place of thinking I also know how He should do it.  You see, my way doesn’t require evil to be crushed; it requires evil to be changed into good.  It's the feel-good ending where everyone wins, and no one or thing needs to be defeated.  (It certainly doesn't require a cross, or my Savior's agony and pain on that cross...)

This week, I’m seeing this as defective thinking on my part.  It became clear to me when I read in Exodus 14, in two different places, that God was the one who was planning to harden Pharaoh’s heart - not Pharaoh himself.  And this would cause Pharaoh (and his army) to chase after Moses and the Israelites.  Now if I had been Moses, I would have been inclined to think my prayerful, carefully executed discussion with Pharaoh had failed when Pharaoh's heart became hard.  That I had not said enough of the right thing in an effective enough way…or that maybe I didn’t pray enough before I requested that Pharaoh once and for all let me and my people go.  Wouldn't God surely want Pharaoh to become a believer and send the Israelites out with a prayer service that the reformed king would lead?

Until now, I had never really let this truth sink into my mind and heart:  God wanted Pharaoh’s heart to be hard; he wanted him to chase after the Israelites and scare them half to death.  And why?  To display His glory and show people that He’s the Lord!

“I have planned this to display my great glory through Pharaoh and his whole army.  After this the Egyptians will know that I am the Lord!”  (Ex. 14:4 NLT)

God, being God, gets to pick His enemies (which, as His children, become our enemies, and vice versa) and He chooses to harden their hearts, even when it might make things very difficult for us for awhile.  But then, oh then - He stops them cold, and in doing so, displays His great glory.

Our tactics may seem more reasonable to us, and we are called to be peacemakers in this world, so I don’t even think our collaboration efforts are usually misguided, and often He works through them to bring resolution.  I’ve just come to realize that I need to acknowledge, respect and praise Him for His right to declare and defeat my enemies in His way – for His great glory...and who doubts - for the benefit of His grateful daughter.

Faith's unchanging dad

This Friday will be the ninth anniversary of the day my dad, Harold Revne, passed to the other side of eternity; so it seems like a really appropriate week for this guest post about a special dad, from one of my BFFs: Faith Tasker. She and I have been great friends since we were two years old. She spoke this tribute about her dad on Father’s Day, in the church he served as pastor of, for many years. It’s more than just stories about her earthly father, however...

(Oh, and yes, the Ann in the story is Yours Truly. And I still don’t like to touch frogs!)

My Dad’s name is David Peterson. Dad was a Wesleyan Pastor for 50 years in the Wisconsin District including over 21 years as pastor of this church (Wesleyan Church in Spooner, WI), and he was “Dad” to three kids: two boys and one girl. It’s a difficult task to select the stories to share with you, as there are so many throughout a lifetime, but I think of a time when I was 12 or 13 years old.

My parents used to let me practice driving in the church parking lot and I would practice pulling into all the stalls between the lines. When I was done one day I headed over to the parsonage to watch Hogan’s Heroes and later Dad came over from his office at the church. Very calmly, without raising his voice he said, “Faith, you need to remember to put the car in park when you get out.” In those days you could turn a car off and take the keys out without putting it in park. The car had rolled across the parking lot, ran into the cement bumper at the edge, pushed the bumper OFF the lot and then amazingly stopped just before going all the way over the steep drop off into the gully below. Dad was consummately patient with me. A trait of the Heavenly Father.

Earlier, when I was 10 or 11, my best friend, Ann, had come to visit me from Eau Claire for a week. The County Fair was there at that time and we wanted to earn some extra money to spend on rides. We got the brilliant idea that if we could catch frogs, there would be lots of people who would love to buy them to use for fishing bait. Of course we were afraid to touch frogs, so we enlisted Dad to catch them all. We ventured down into the swamp right behind the church. Dad got down on his knee in his overalls in that swamp and had an amazing way of moving his hand in circles: getting smaller and smaller to mesmerize the frog, and then he would grab it and put it in our bucket.

We painted a sign that said “FROGS FOR SALE” and stuck it in the ground right next to Hwy 70 and stood waiting for the masses to appear in dire need of frogs. To our surprise, no one stopped. Finally my oldest brother’s best friend and wife showed up and gladly bought all our frogs. We couldn’t believe our luck! Only years later did I learn that my dad had asked John to buy the frogs and even gave him the money to do so! Just as our Father in Heaven, Dad longed to fulfill my dreams and bring delight and pleasure to my heart.

Many years later, came a time that I was willful and made some bad decisions. The kind of decisions that affect you for the rest of your life… I broke my parent’s hearts and the heart of God. I know this was so difficult for Dad, but I remember what he said to me. He assured me of his love forever, and said that although this path was not the perfect will of God – “Plan A” if you will – there was now “Plan B” and God was not done with my life and would not throw me away because I had done wrong. God still had a purpose for me and could do great things in and through me. Dad did not give me the judgment and punishment I deserved, but rather showed me unconditional love, just like God does.

Dad steadfastly extended patience to me. He did his best to fulfill dreams, hopes and desires in all his children. And he showed mercy and love in the face of great disappointment. Put all of these traits together in the consistent way that Dad lived, and I would say the one that most reminds me of God is that Dad was unchanging.

James 1:17 (ESV) says: “Every good gift and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of Lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.”

When I reach heaven I want to see my Savior, Jesus, first of all, but then I want to run to find my earthly dad. Love you, Dad! --Faith

Thank you, Faith, for your friendship, and for sharing these fun, and inspiring, memories of your dear dad.

I'm a witness

It seems incredibly close-minded, even arrogant, to believe that there is truth and that I know what it is. People – and I’m one of those people – get furious with such philosophical arrogance, and can hardly believe that individuals dare to speak of their own opinionated knowledge so highly. Yet, when it comes to knowing and believing in one true God, I willingly take such a stand, myself. And not because I think I’m so great (I really don’t), but because of who I am through Jesus.

Honestly, this has not been easy for me to reconcile... As I said, on the one hand, I am a person who quite easily disrespects people who take these very “I know the truth, and the truth is what I believe” stances. These stands are often of a political nature, and usually polarize. I much prefer collaboration, often believing the most workable – and long-term, the most palatable – answer is somewhere in the middle. (And not that one should alter what they believe is the absolute best, but one should be willing to work toward reasonable compromises, recognizing there are respectful views, and people, on most sides of most issues.)

Yet, if you asked me if there is one true God and not “many gods, all of whom are likely worthy belief choices” I would answer, “No, I believe there is one, true God, and this is the God I know and trust.” Now, granted, I would say it kindly, not at all disrespecting another’s free choice to disagree, and to worship any god she or he chooses. Nevertheless, I believe I have the truth in this matter, and with good reason…

What I call my “good reason,” others may say is “completely circumstantial.” And, in a way, they would be absolutely right. Yet, that’s exactly what I implore is good reason to investigate my God as the true God: the circumstance of who He is and what He has done in my life. His influence in me cannot be denied, or argued with, if you get to know me, and see what that influence has been.

Should we not compare gods by the lives of their true believers? Not by simply looking at those who attend services, or visit temples or go through rituals, but the actual lives – before and after – of those who place their trust in these gods. Not, “Are they perfect?” (Who is?) But, “What comes out of their hearts?” And, “Is the power of their God’s spirit in their daily lives?”

I’m a witness to the truth that it is possible to have a current, active relationship with God, through Jesus Christ. And that witness, flawed and imperfect as it is, is still a powerful reason to believe. This not because of who I am...or what I have done...because frankly, on my own – without His Spirit working in me – my life takes a disgusting turn. But when I allow Him to reign in me, He does, and my life becomes a convincing witness of the reason to believe.

Grandma's remarkable story

Tonight, my 89-year-young mom and I had dinner together at my house. As we finished our meal of stuffed French toast and coffee, I pulled out a bunch of old notebooks and documents and we started poring over them together. I’ll share more from these documents in the days and weeks ahead, but I want to begin with the one that brought tears of pride and affection for my dad's mother - my grandma.

It’s written by my grandpa, Berge Revne, about my grandma, Herborg Revne, sometime after her death in 1960. And it confirms what I felt deeply as I stood at her grave in Kaele, Cameroon last year: she loved her Savior very much.

My Wife (by Berge Revne)
She was the first white woman to enter and to reside in North Cameroon and in the Colony of Chad.

She was the first white woman to speak Fulfulde in that whole region of Central Africa.

She was the first woman to bring the Gospel to the women of North Cameroon and Chad.

She was the first mother with her two-month old white baby to travel up the Benue River to Garoua in an African dugout canoe, and from there, ten days over land on horseback or walking.

She was the first woman to plant flowers and fruit trees on eight new mission stations which we were privileged to begin the work on, and to build the first huts or houses.

She was the first woman to witness to the women and children in these places.

In short, most of her missionary career was a “first” – in other words a “pioneer” and yet she never made mention of what she had accomplished. The love for the work and joy in doing it urged her to continue until her days were finished.

If this isn't an example of stepping out of one's comfort zone for Christ, I don't know what is. This woman made an investment in people which continues to this day and into eternity... Fifty years following her death, I observed fruits of her labor in Cameroon last year. And I know God is using her remarkable story to inspire me to write a better, God-honoring, story with my life.

Grandma Herborg died before I could speak the word Grandma to her. If she only knew how humbled and honored I am to call her My Grandma...

The ugly maple

Some people compare the seasons in nature to four seasons of a life. When you’re very young, it’s the spring of your life; when you are old it’s the winter; and summer and fall are in between. Instead, I like to think we go through many seasonal cycles in life – not just one. And right now I think I’m in an early spring...

This realization came this afternoon when I was out on the front deck, drinking in the sun’s warmth and vitamin D. It’s an unbelievably balmy Wisconsin day today – 80 degrees Fahrenheit – and spring doesn’t officially begin until Tuesday! As I leaned my head on the back of the wicker chair and looked up at the sky through the branches of the yard's lone maple tree, I noticed something: the tree looked ugly.

Okay, so maybe trees don’t have emotions, but if this tree did, I think it would be feeling sad right now, at least concerning how it looked. Its branches don’t show any signs of green. Rather, they are an ugly gray-brown color. And at the ends of the twigs that shoot out from the branches, are roundish, thorny-looking, dark gray, berry-shaped blobs – that are far from pretty, or handsome. They aren’t even the slightest bit cute. So it’s difficult to believe that beautiful green leaves will one day soon emerge from them. Except I know it’s true because I have seen it happen year after year...

Today I wanted to say to the tree, “Hang on there old maple. In a few weeks you’re going to be looking quite lovely. You know those ugly, itchy, prickly things that are annoying your twigs right now? Well, hidden inside are lovely green leaves. You’re going to be beautiful!”

I then noticed the state of the rest of my surroundings... The grass isn’t pretty right now, either. It’s still clumped down from winter’s snows, and is wearing a sprinkling of dead leaves – ugly remnants of autumn’s long-past glory. The trees in other yards are all looking gray-brown and lifeless, too. There are no beautiful flowers in planters, and the human houses and streets look neglected from winter’s cold, dark, season. Yet, it’s next to impossible to miss the incredible hope that is in the air right now. I was anything but depressed as I soaked in the sunshine and let the warm breezes whisk my cares away.

Personally, I’m identifying with the ugly parts of spring. I’m not seeing any green growth in my life today. There’s no visible, lush, shade-providing, inspiring evidence of what’s flowing through my veins. There are no apparent signs that the ugly blobs of whatever is trying to ooze from God’s work inside of me is about to emerge green and beautiful. I do hope and trust this will happen - with all of my heart...but not because I’m making something beautiful. (I can’t even control results from my very best intentions!) I can trust this only because He is making something beautiful. His glory must burst forth. The ugly tree will soon be gloriously green.

Mind vs. heart

For the past few months I’ve had an unresolved battle going on in my mind…or is it my heart? The conflict, which I haven’t quite resolved yet, is over which rules: our mind or our heart? Does our mind (which I describe as our thoughts and knowledge) direct our heart (which I describe as our feelings and passion) or does our heart direct our mind? Or is it some combination of both? And why do I seem to need to know, anyway?

As one who can over think anything, even over-thinking, I’ve got a desire to, once and for all, defend, or else reduce my analytical practice. So that answers the last question... But it wasn’t until something I heard on American Idol recently, that I finally devoted some time and conversation with a friend to begin to truly sort the first question out. More than one Idol talent contestant this season has received feedback from judges that he or she needs to “stop thinking” when they are performing, and to instead, apparently, “sing from the heart.” “This was not your best performance,” one judge said, and another followed with, “You were thinking too much…you’ve got the talent…just sing!”

I found this somewhat frightening to hear... I’ve dabbled in music my whole life, so I totally agree that mechanical perfection alone is not perfection. If music is to be great, emotion must be involved. But what about outside of the music realm? I mean, I definitely don’t want sterile, even if technically perfect, results in life. (And my results to date aren't technically perfect, anyway...) I don’t want mechanical, or strained, or boring. I do want passion, and glory to God. I do want to move people...to be a positive influence. Could I be over-thinking things and sabotaging the God-pleasing results I’m seeking to accomplish?

Well, all this thinking led me to a scary question... Is it time to trust my heart more? To act, create, and simply and generally be more out of feeling and passion? If the Spirit of Jesus is in me, and by the grace of God, He is, can I simply be, without so much striving, worrying, analyzing, and…thinking?

So, honestly, I do feel a need to think about this some more. Yet my heart is telling me I may be on to something. And I have to say it feels good...

Armor of God

I've found there's only one way to approach each day as a follower Christ... It’s to get up every morning and put on the armor of God. I visibly go through the motions, when I remember, which may seem childlike and silly, but I’m a visual person, so it helps me think about the words I’m saying and to have a little fun with it too.

When Abby was visiting a month ago I taught it to her one morning. We started by putting on the belt of truth. (I get dressed in the order I read in Ephesians 6:14-17.) Her eyes immediately lit up at this need to use our imaginations. I knew she’d love this. Then we draped ourselves from head to toe in God’s righteousness, ending that sweep of our hands flowing in the air from head to ankle, inches from our body, by putting on shoes of peace. Immediately and abruptly we then stood tall, and boldly pushed our left arms straight out from our bodies with our hands held in high-five position for the shield of faith. We finished with our hands making an upside-down “V” for the helmet of salvation, then exuberantly raised our right arms high in the air with our fingers pointing, as we yelled, “and the sword of the Spirit!”

It was fun. We did it a couple of times together that morning so she could learn it, and then went on our way... Well, a couple of weekends later she was back at my house, with her mom and brothers this time. I came downstairs after showering and dressing and saw that she and Sam were engrossed in a Clifford video. Now they, like most kids I know (including my sons, years ago), get so engrossed in videos that it practically takes an act of God to bring them out of the fantasy and back to reality. Well, I guess it likely was an act of God this day because when I walked into the room, Abby turned away from the TV, smiled, tilted her head knowingly and said, “Grandma, did you remember to put on the armor of God?” I was shocked and speechless for a second or two. Not only had she remembered, but she broke out of Clifford’s exciting story to ask me if I remembered! And she caught me. I had forgotten.

I love children. They are so genuine and eager, and not too little or too big to be awesome followers of Jesus.

This blog features stories about God’s faithfulness through generations. It began with stories of my Grandpa and Grandma Revne as they pioneered to northeast Cameroon to tell people about Jesus and His love and plan for them. And while they were serving God far away, one day a granddaughter was born and I came into this world. And even though I hardly knew my grandparents while they walked this earth, I feel I know them so well now. Yet the story continues... Now I’m the adult. Not in Africa (right now, anyway), yet walking with my Lord through this life. And now there's another granddaughter. This time it's Abby, and there are six more dear young children. And with all of this life come stories, and stories, and stories...

I continue to get up each day and, when I remember, visibly put on the armor of God. I’ve found it’s the best way to walk through these days. It begins with the belt of truth…

Each day's mission

A couple of weeks ago I scribbled something in my notebook right before I went to bed. I just reread it and decided to post it here:

I’m going to get up every day and put on the armor of God. Then I’m going to do what is in front of me to do for that day. And I’m going to earnestly pray that God will show me when it’s the right time to break out of this…to the next thing.

Meanwhile, I’ll continue to pray, seek, and do what’s in front of me – giving all for His honor and glory.

He has not forgotten me or my willingness. He will show me the way. And it won’t be too late or too early.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that my Lord is faithful and trustworthy. He is the Good Shepherd; I am one of His sheep. His sheep know His voice. I know His voice...it is loving...it protects. Thank you, my Lord.

Time for fun...

Recently, after struggling to write about some of my core beliefs - a task which I found both exhausting and clarifying - and also after taking some uncomfortable, yet courageous steps in a particular area of my life, I sensed the Lord whisper to me: “Now it’s time for fun.”

Being the analytical person I am, I thought, “But wait, is fun ever a worthy goal? I mean look at you, Lord Jesus – the one I’m following – your fun was dying on a cross? Do you really mean it's time for fun? It sounds so appealing...so desirable...but could it possibly be your voice I'm hearing? Fun is supposed to be what the weak long for - what the undisciplined accomplish, right?" And then I considered something…

When it seems I’m having the most fun is when I’m living with purpose. Whether I’m laughing-until-I-cry with family or friends, or if I'm praying with a friend while tears of sorrow are streaming down both of our faces - either could be defined as fun if fun's definition includes living a relational life of purpose.

And who in this world has ever had more relational purpose than Jesus? His death was incredibly painful – I can’t even imagine. But if having purpose brings fun, then has anyone ever had more fun than Jesus Christ?

So I’ve accepted the words from my Lord. I’m looking forward to a year of fun as I live out my purpose by His grace and through His strength.

God & Annie

After Abby and I wrote our tale (previous post) I started thinking about how there might be some similarities between our process, and the process God and I are going through in writing the story of my life.

So here’s how the process with Abby went:

- I initiated the process…supplied the computer, the blog – i.e. provided the tools.

- Some of me is in Abby. While Abby’s definitely her own individual (there’s no doubt, right?), she’s also got some of me in her as she’s my biological son’s, biological daughter. There’s some Annie blood running through her, if you will

- Abby and I both wanted to create a story. We were both excited and eager to bring something into being that wasn’t there before we created it.

- I asked her to get us started… What kind of a story should we write? How do you want to begin it?

- She thought a moment and then began. And what you couldn’t see if/when you read the post, was a sweet part of the process to me. She gave me one word at a time, because she is learning to read and wanted to see each word appear as I typed it on the screen. As she watched her words appear, she smiled – first at the computer, then up at me. My heart was brimming with love...

- Then, after she gave me a sentence or a few, she stopped talking, looked up at me and declared, “Your turn.” And this is how we continued, going back and forth with our story line.

- When the baton was passed to me, I paused, considered what Abby had put on the page, and began adding to the story. Now here’s where it got interesting... I both adored Abby’s creativity and found it somewhat challenging, because from my adult, inside-boxes perspective, I was hoping for an end result of a story I would somewhat understand and be proud of. Yet I desperately did not want to “take control,” knowing then it would be my story, and not our shared story, which is where the fun is.

- So what did I do? I lovingly accepted every word Abby gave me, only once or twice saying, “Do you mean X, instead of Y?” – to which she would nod enthusiastically, and say, “yes!” And then when it was my turn, I steered my pieces of the story toward something that I thought would bring the best end result, yet with no guarantees, because once I passed the baton back to Abby, who knew where it would go (which brought as much excitement as it did challenge)?

So how might Abby’s and my process be similar to the process of us writing our life stories with God? Doesn’t God start out by giving us life and some tools in this world? And to His believers, and Christ followers, we definitely have His Spirit within us, inherently making our story His story. And I do trust and imagine that He is delighted with us the way I was delighted with Abby. That He is eagerly waiting to see what we want to do with the story line and accepts our inputs lovingly, because clearly our goal is to write a good story together...

I don’t think I should worry as much as I do about the individual words, lines or paragraphs I give my Lord. Our all-knowing, all-powerful God has a remarkable way of weaving a glorious tale out of the pieces we eagerly offer Him.

Abby & Annie

Today I got to hang out with my five-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter, Abby. She's incredibly special, and super creative. We decided to write a blog post together. Below is our story, improvisational style. Abby's words are in bold, Annie's are not. We hope you enjoy!

Title: Never Feed Wild Animals

One day Abby and Sam were going out to play. When they got outside what they saw in the bushes was a fox…and a parrot…and a wolf. And in the tree was a big black bear…and a monkey. Abby and Sam ran back into the house.

They told their mom about all the animals they had just seen in their yard, but their mom didn’t believe them. She laughed, and winked at them and said with a smile, “Oh did the animals talk to you?”

“Yes,” said Abby and Sam. “We really saw them.”

“Well then, were they hungry? Maybe we should prepare a snack for you to bring to them,” their mom said.

“Yes they looked hungry. They were asking us to bring food to them.”

“Okay then,” said their mom, still smiling. “Let’s get started. What should we prepare for them to eat?”

“For the black bear, we should bring meat. For the monkey, we should give him some berries, because this monkey likes to eat berries,” Abby said. Sam added loudly, “And I think the parrot would like some fruit, and the wolf and fox really want some chocolate cake!”

Abby said, “Wolves and foxes can’t have chocolate cake!” But mom quickly said, “Well, if Sam would like to bring these wild animals some chocolate cake, then I’m happy to put some in two bowls for you kids, I mean, for the animals. I hope the cake doesn’t spoil the animals’ dinner.” And Mom began to dish up some cake and put a little summer sausage, berries, and fruit in a picnic basket.

“Wait Mom,” said Abby. “Animals just can’t have chocolate cake. They will get sick if they have chocolate cake.”

Mom looked at Abby, because she was surprised at what she was hearing. She had never known her daughter to turn down chocolate cake. Abby was really into pretending today... Well, since Mom wants Abby to eat healthier anyway, she decided to be pleased, and suggested only sending out one bowl of cake.

“For us?” asked Abby, “Or for the roses - the big, red, roses?”

“Roses?!” Mom asked. “What do you mean roses? I thought we were talking about feeding wild animals in our yard?”

“Yeah, but animals would get sick if you gave it to them.”

Mom said, “Roses can’t eat, Abby, but I could use the roses petals to make blankets…little blankets for your stuffed animal Reepicheap."

Right then, Sam came back into the room and said, “Let’s hurry! The animals are going to be gone if we don’t hurry up and go back outside.” So Mom gave Sam his basket of cake, berries, fruit and some sausage, and told him to “go feed the animals,” as she smiled and winked at him.

Then she asked Abby if she wanted to help her make the rose petal blankets. But right then, they hear a loud roar and a scream from Sam who was already outside with his basket of food.

The bear was angry at him. The bear was starving, and he just wanted ALL the food.

When Mom heard the roar and the scream, she dropped the roses and yelled in a scared voice, “Oh no, what’s happening?!” as she ran out the door toward Sam’s voice.

The big black bear was bringing Sam up the tree to a bunch of big black bears. Mom was so startled to see the big bear with her dear son Sam in his arms that she screamed super loud and long. So loud and long that she startled the bear and he loosened his grip on Sam.

And then the big black bear came down the tree with Sam and gave him back to Mom. Mom grabbed Sam from the bear, while Abby watched all this from the window. Mom couldn’t believe this was actually happening. "It feels like a dream," she said, "a horrible, scary dream." Right then, she heard Abby yell, “Mom, is it time to get up yet?”

Abby had heard her mom scream and added, “Mom, it was just a scary nightmare! If it’s time to get up, just please answer me!” said Abby. Mom said, “Sleep until 7:30…” And then Mom walked into their room and gave them each big bear hugs.

~ The End ~

This, my story... (part 4 of 4)

During this adult season of questioning – of challenging beliefs – the stakes of faith were raised higher, and the enemy of truth was fully engaged. The challenge was now more sophisticated, and had more stakeholders than the simple gym class dance. But strangely, it felt similar. At a basic level it came down to the core of my faith and what it’s staked on. Is my faith staked on Jesus’ death on my behalf? Or is it staked on something else, and/or something additional? Is it how my life looks to others? Or how my heart looks to God? Thankfully, I knew...I know..it's about the heart.

And I propose that we are all trapped in dying bodies, although we are forever beings. We need to escape this destructive, evil-filled life for a glorious, evil-less future life. It’s the option I heard the essence of when growing up, and believe its truth today without any (perceived) human additions or tweaks. Now I realize that saying one has found truth (as I am suggesting here) is bold, and may seem incredibly arrogant. But is it?

I say that if one believes one has found such truth, it is comparable to finding a spring of pure, cold water in the middle of a hot, dusty desert. Not calling out “water” because you might offend those who might say, “Well, it’s a spring of cold water to you, but how can you say it is that for everyone?” seems ridiculous. Wouldn’t you risk calling out “water!” knowing how helpful it would be to a person dying of thirst. If they choose to ignore or refuse believing it really is water, at least you tried to tell them, right? When one has found such a spring, and it has nourished one’s soul without fail through all sorts of challenging circumstances, I would say to others, "Don't be so quick to doubt. What if there is a spring of fresh water?"

This is essentially what I’m trying to do with my story. I’m calling out “water!” It's why I feel compelled to write. I have one who loves me unconditionally, and never lets me go. I have incredible hope for forever. If you had this, wouldn’t you feel at least a measure of duty to try to share what you have found with others?

My Grandpa Revne said he dictated his stories from Africa “for my grandchildren and other young people." My story is for all who will consider and believe that they are trapped in a life that's temporal, and would like to trade it in for a life that's eternal and free from the current status quo we're stuck with. Jesus already paid the fee...thank Him, and ask for the credit to be applied to your life.

I look forward to hanging out with all who do - someday, on the other side.

Always,
Annie

This, my story... (part 3 of 4)

This is why I began to believe that I was trapped in my body. And I still do believe this, actually. It’s the only answer that really makes sense: I’m stuck in a body I wasn’t made for. It’s a body that is dying in a time-constrained world, and I was designed to live forever. I was purposed to live without an end point, but I ended up with a certain, destined endpoint: death. So what’s a trapped person to do? Well, even animals know the answer to that dilemma: find a way out!

It seems us humans are much more accepting, however. We do try to extend the life of our dying bodies, and for this we are due some credit, and have made some headway, perhaps. Physicians, nutritionists, chiropractors, exercise...all may help us live an extra month, year, or even a few years. But what if you want more than a few years? What if your spirit wants to live in an undying body? Then what are your options?

Christianity has had the answer all along, I think. Yet I don’t find the pure answer easily within modern Christianity. Modern Christianity and many other God-believing religions seem to stumble by tweaking (at a minimum) the truth. People or groups of people take a piece or many pieces of truth and add to, or subtract from it – sometimes blatantly, and sometimes ever so slightly - perhaps mostly without even realizing what they are doing.

Yet all degrees of alteration, regardless of intent, cause destruction. I've been in conversations with many people who have been turned off by humanly tweaked versions of the truth. I can’t say that I blame them for snubbing these versions, but it distresses me to think that they may miss redeeming truth, altogether.

But back to the story… So growing up, I listened carefully to the messages I heard in churches. I wanted to be free from my body's death sentence, and I was hearing a saving prescription being proclaimed. So I accepted the message and staked my life on it. Yet after many adult years, and much heartbreak, I became the fourth grade girl again seeking the actual truth. This time however, the issue was much more sophisticated than dancing in gym class, and much more devastating. This time, it was a broken marriage, with a whole new realm of unacceptability and deviation from the accepted norm. With pain that touched many, to match...

Now I am not going to talk specifics, here. There is no need to, really, even though that is often what people want to know: “Who’s the transgressor?” “Who cheated on whom, because certainly someone must have cheated…” At the end of those conversations, however, because believe me, I’ve been part of dozens of them, what are you really left with? Still pain…still hurting individuals and families. Still, a marriage, that for reasons most people don’t know or don’t understand, can’t continue.

(part 4 next...)

This, my story... (part 2 of 4)

Well, the body I was trapped in was growing. And as I was becoming a teenager, I was also becoming nervous. This is because I was gaining some height, and I was worried that I would end up “freakishly tall” – something over 6 feet 2 inches, surely, and most likely more like 7 feet. So when my growth spurt began to slow, and then came to a stop at 5 feet 10 inches, I remember being super relieved. I could live with, even enjoy, this amount of height, I decided. (The only really frustrating aspect was that most of the boys my age were shorter than me – significantly shorter – and I did like the boys…)

But here's the essence of this trapped feeling I'm writing about: I was coming to see and believe – and it made sense to me, deep inside my soul – that I’m an eternal being living in a mortal body. It was what I had sensed at a young age, long before I could begin to articulate it, or understand what might explain my feelings.

One of the signposts of this phenomenon - which, by the way, I think we all are experiencing - is probably so obvious to most people, that they simply overlook it. This sign, at least as I see it, is a basic discontent with the status quo of this life. Think for a moment about all the things that bother many of us: disorganization, sickness, death, unfairness, evil deeds (murder, rape, etc.), and the tyranny of bodily sustenance through work or other means. These range from bothersome to tragic, and are that to a majority of people across the earth, whether in developed or developing countries.

And then there’s the whole issue of time... C.S. Lewis discussed how our frustration with time is an indicator of eternity. When I first read this (as a C.S. Lewis quote in A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken), it really made me think. Why are we so amazed by the passing of time? If we were created for time, would it surprise us like it does? Would we exclaim over and over how we can’t believe another week or year has gone by?

It was when I began to accept that I was created for eternity, that the truth of what I had been taught in my early years started to make sense. Not the legalism…not the “don’t play cards” or the “don’t go into a bar,” or other similar messages... But what began to make sense was that there was a plan. A plan that, deep inside of me, made more sense than the one my body seemed to be stuck with.

This, my story... (part 1 of 4)

I remember the first time I knew I was trapped inside the wrong body. (Please stay with me here, I'll explain as I go...) It’s not like the body I was in didn’t feel like mine. It definitely did. It looked, smelled, and acted like me, and I basically liked me—including my body. But there was this strange feeling growing deep inside of me that I was living in a foreign place. (And I’ll be honest; at times it freaked me out!)

I’d be lying on the sofa in the middle of a Saturday afternoon and suddenly I’d get this weird feeling, like: "What is this life I’m living? Where did I come from and where am I going?" And this was at a pretty early age…maybe late elementary school or young teen years.

I grew up in a Christian family, which does not mean a perfect family, but a pretty good family... I had a mom (she’s still living—89 years old) and dad who loved me and taught me about God. I also grew up with two sisters, with about five years between us, and yes…I’m the middle child. My mom and dad taught me to obey certain rules, like: don’t go to movies, don’t dance, don’t have sex before marriage, etc. And they encouraged me to do certain things, like: play the piano with expression, care about what others think, share the gospel message, and give to the church and missions.

Because of the rules, I didn’t go to my first movie until age 13. It was The Poseidon Adventure, and I loved the experience of going to it with my best friend. But it wasn’t my first step into life beyond the rules. A few years earlier I had fiercely debated my mom over the pros and cons (or apparent indecencies) of dancing in gym class. It was a thrilling day when I finally won, and got to dance the gym class away with all of my peers. The victory was relished…even though I knew the only reason she gave in was because I told her that another church elder’s son was dancing with the class. Nevertheless, it was a victory in truth for me. I couldn’t see why it was wrong, and it turned out I was right. Or at least my argued assumption was determined reasonable enough to allow me to dance in that direction.

You might think I was a little resentful about being raised a Christian, but I really wasn’t. I had started reading through the Bible (a modern paraphrase of it) in late elementary school, and the seed of faith that was in my heart grew as I read and prayed, and sensed God’s presence in my life. I loved God and Jesus and knew that my prayers were heard and answered, even though they didn’t always get answered in the way I was praying they would. And as my faith grew, so did this awareness of being trapped inside a body…
(continued in part 2)