So, let’s get on with it, shall we?

Chapter 2 – A Coward for God

Several years ago, while I was in college and before I started working in ministry or hanging out in the mission field, I heard my friend, Ken Helser, tell a story. Anyone that knows Ken knows that he’s a story teller. But this was a true story. And of all the stories he’s told, this one particularly captivated me.

There’s an epidemic happening all around us. And it’s one that polite society doesn’t like to talk about. It’s one that when it is discussed, we squirm in our chairs and when the pictures come on TV or we see them in magazines or our computer screens, we avert our eyes and move quickly on so that we don’t have to be faced with it or reminded of it. And that epidemic is human trafficking.

It happens all over the world—including America. But when Ken told the story, he talked specifically about Southeast Asia—which is arguably the area with the largest amount of trafficking in the world. In that part of the world, there’s desperate poverty. Families tend to be large and the more children they have, the harder it is to feed them all. And in some of these places, parents will sell one child in order to have money to feed the others. Girls especially—five years old, six years old, seven years old—are sold to men who use them as sex slaves. There is no escape and likely, they will die and die young in this captivity.

I have never heard of anything more heartbreaking, infuriating, and nauseating. What horrific depravity and darkness!

But into this darkness, God is sending a light.

Through a friend of his, Ken got to speak to a group of young people—kids in their late teens and twenties—that go into these places and buy the girls out of slavery. It’s a risky business. And these kids know that if they get caught, they will probably die.

But they go anyway. And lives are being saved.

I have a hard time hearing this story for more reasons than one. I mean, there’s the obvious reason that it’s painful to hear about these kinds of atrocities. But another reason is that it reminds me that in a world where this is happening, these kids are willing to lay down their lives while I sit in my comfy house, watching satellite television with a full belly.

I am safe, while others are dying to save lives.

Philippians 1:21 says that to live is Christ and to die is to gain. This goes right along with what Richard Stearns talks about in Chapter 2 of The Hole in Our Gospel.

We’ve spent all of these weeks discussing other books and one thing that’s been abundantly clear through all of the discussion is that the key to everything is relationship with Christ. Stearns takes us back to that foundation that we’ve been building and seals it for us.

When I was in college, I had an English professor that taught us this very same catechism lesson that Stearns discusses here. That five minute lesson in my World Lit class has stuck with me all of this time and so it especially resounded when I read it here.

Why did God make me?

To love, serve, and obey Him…

That’s my calling. Those are my marching orders. They should be my agenda.

In this chapter, Stearns tells his story. He tells of coming to Christ and committing to be a Christ follower in deed and not just in name only. But he also tells the reality of life that drew him into “the box.” And we have all been there. It’s really easy to serve Jesus when you’re comfortable and safe, but God called Rich Stearns out of the box and He’s calling us out of the box, too.

How do I know?

Because I’m writing this and you’re reading it. We’re here in this place together and this is the message that God has for us today.

He’s calling us to come out…

Maybe not to Southeast Asia, but out nonetheless.

Just across the street…

Or across the aisle at church…

Or across the railroad tracks…

It all comes down to one question: Are you willing to be open to God’s will for your life?

I was fourteen the first time I remember wanting to die.  Lying in bed one night I just had an almost overwhelming desire to die.  I couldn’t explain it or make it go away, so I tried to ignore it.  I never told anyone.  But by the time I was seventeen, wanting to die was a normal emotion for me. 

When I was a little girl, my older brother told me that killing yourself is a sin and that God won’t forgive you for it.  For years, that fear was the only thing that kept me from killing myself.  I never told anyone.  Not my parents, my brother, my friends, or my doctor. 

In my quest to be the perfect pastor’s daughter, I learned how to wear a mask at all times so that nobody—even my family—would know that anything was wrong.  And when the mask would slip and someone would see my weakness or my pain, I’d explain it away and then put my mask back on.

I thought that when I accepted Christ, my life would be filled with joy and that I would somehow live above the pain, but that didn’t happen.  In fact, some of the most painful things that have happened to me have happened since I accepted Christ.  I came to realize that if Satan couldn’t kill me (which the Bible says he can’t) then he was going to do everything possible to steal my joy and to make me ineffective in the Kingdom.

God gave me an incredible support system to surround me in the first few years that I was a Christian.  They encouraged me, exhorted me, and constantly challenged me to grow closer to Christ.  During my senior year of college, I went to school full time, wrote a feature-length screenplay, and worked full time.  And the closer I got to Christ, the more people began to depend on me for their emotional support.  Most nights when I came back to the dorm from work at 1 am, I’d find people or messages or emails.  “Sarah, I need…”  “Sarah, can you…”  “Sarah, do you have…”  “Sister, I have this problem…” 

And so, one night, sitting at my desk, I decided that I couldn’t keep up the charade anymore.  I grabbed a white Kleenex, laid it on the desk, and then began to scout the suite for whatever pills I could find.  As I found pills of various kinds, I brought them and piled them neatly in the center of the Kleenex.  White pills, red pills, green pills, yellow pills.  A veritable buffet of death.  I made one last trip to the bathroom to hunt for pills and as I passed the mirror, I saw myself out of the corner of my eye.

NO! 

Without stopping to think about it, I ran to the bedroom, grabbed the Kleenex off my desk, and flushed the whole mess down the toilet.

The late Rev. Tommy Tyson once said, “If you smile enough and you’re friendly enough, no one will think you’re afraid.”  And that’s been my life: one smile after another, trying to convince the world and myself that I’m not afraid or weak or inferior.  And while I’d been somewhat successful at convincing the world, I hadn’t managed to convince myself.  I hadn’t realized that Christ is my faith, my strength, and my worth.  Facing the pressures of the world by myself, I lost my hope.  Even when I flushed the pills, I somehow couldn’t find my hope.

Life—even life as a Christian—has been a rollercoaster for me. One step forward, two steps back. Three steps forward, five steps back. Almost like a perverse dance that I just can’t stop. Many times, I’ve fought through the darkness and found hope on the other side, only to lose it again just as quickly. What I’m learning is that every day is going to be a battle. Our only choice is whether we choose to fight it alone or whether we choose to let Jesus fight at our side.

Today, I’m in the battle for my life. And today, I choose to fight with Him instead of against Him. Today, I’m going to lean on Psalm 33:20 and 2 Corinthians 4:8-10.

“We wait in hope for the LORD; for he is our help and our shield.”

 “We are pressed on every side by troubles, but not crushed and broken.  We are perplexed because we don’t know why things happen as they do, but we don’t give up and quit.  We are hunted down, but God never abandons us.  We get knocked down, but we get up again and keep going.  These bodies of ours are constantly facing death just as Jesus did; so it is clear to all that it is only the living Christ within [who keeps us safe].”

I was riding back to the house with my Dad after lunch today. I was full and more than a little sleepy and as a result, I was also more than a little quiet. I leaned back against the seat and watched all the little houses pass by. But it was while we were waiting at the stoplight at Mebane Street that I saw the little house that got my attention.

It was a white house with red shutters. I’ll bet that once upon a time, it was a cute little house. But now, there are a half dozen junked cars in the yard. A layer of green coats the white siding of the house. A few large limbs lie precariously on the roof. And one fallen red shutter leans lopsidedly against the side of the house. Though you can see that someone obviously lives in the house, it just seems to shout, “UNCARED FOR!”

I’ll admit that I looked at the house and immediately judged the people inside. Careless. Sloppy. Unkempt.

The light turned green and we left the house behind, but my thoughts traveled with me. I felt the conviction for my judgmentalness and then, my mind began to wander. What if that little white house was inhabited by a sickly, four-foot, ten-inch great-grandmother named Mazie Lee?

Years ago when Mazie Lee and her husband, Joe, bought the house, it was perfect for the newly retired couple. The crisp white siding and bold, happy, red shutters fit Mazie’s personality to a “T.” Mazie spent sunny days on her knees in the flower beds around the house, planting petunias and vinca in the spring and summer and mums in the fall and winter.

Joe never could sit still—even in retirement—and so the neighbors began to bring over their cars for him to tinker on. And tinker, he did. He would head out to the barn each morning with a cup of coffee and Mazie would have to practically drag him in at supper time.

Afternoons and weekends and holidays found the little house full of family. Joe and Mazie’s kids were just finishing up college and getting married. Their oldest boy and his mousy little wife had their first baby on the way. And most evenings, Mazie Lee would sit on one end of the couch, watching Wheel of Fortune and crocheting baby things for her first grandchild.

Now that some years have passed, industry in this area has moved west to Charlotte and east to Raleigh/Durham and the Research Triangle Park. When industry moved, so did the kids. These days, the kids and grandkids only seem to make it home for every-other holiday. And lately, the grandkids would rather spend their Christmases on the ski-slopes and their summers at the beach.

Three years ago in October, Mazie hollered out the back door to call Joe in for supper and he didn’t come. Frustrated at the old half-deaf coot, she went out there and found him on the ground where he had fallen. Heart attack, they said. She still misses him and keeps his picture by her chair where she can fuss at him during the loneliest parts of the evenings. She tells him that she can’t believe he left her and what is she supposed to do now?

The flower beds are full of weeds now. She’s had a knee replacement and a broken hip. She just can’t get down there like she used to. And that boy down the street that cuts her grass for an exorbitant amount of money every three weeks won’t weed or even pick up sticks and pine cones. The last time a storm came through, she could hear the limbs falling on the roof, but she isn’t sure who to call to get them down. She called the preacher, but his back is acting up and he says he can’t climb a ladder. She was hoping Joe Junior could come fix a few things for her, but now that his wife’s been laid off, he’s having to work extra hours to pay the bills. And Mazie surely can’t fault him for that…

Mrs. Mazie Lee is a figment of my imagination, but what about the people that really live in that white house with the red shutters? What about my neighbors? What about your neighbors?

Lord, let me not be so quick to judge, but open my eyes to see the needs of those around me. Help me not to judge, but to see people through the eyes of the Holy Spirit. Jesus told the rich young ruler that the greatest commandments were to love God and to love other people. Help me to know what that means and to walk that out every day of my life. Sometimes, it’s easy to love others. But other times, when I don’t understand or agree with someone else, my impulse may be to judge them and avoid them. I pray that you would expand my heart to love like Christ loves. And in that, I pray that you would open the hearts of others to receive Christ’s love through me.

I was so excited about my first summer band camp, which was held in the huge swampy field next to the football field at the high school.  We lived in the neighborhood across the street from the school and so each day, we would walk over to the school and spend hours sweating, marching, and trying not to die of malaria from all of the mosquito bites.

Our marching band was an award-winning band and about an hour into my first day of band camp, I figured out why.  Mr. Page—our highly skilled band director—was a tyrant.  He knew exactly what he wanted done and exactly how he wanted it accomplished.  And we were going to practice it over and over and over again until we executed it flawlessly.  We lined up, marched the formations, played all of our songs, and he would stalk up and down the rows of musicians, blowing his whistle, pointing his long finger, and barking orders.  At the end of the day, we stood in formation, trembling with exhaustion, dripping with sweat, waiting for a small word of praise or a smile.  But—nothing.  He would blow his whistle and dismiss us with a wave of his hand.

After school started, we belonged to Mr. Page twice a day.  Each day during second period, we would line up in parade lines and march around and around our small town, serenading the small businesses, stay-at-home mommies, and retirees.  And each day when school ended, we would line up on the football field and march through our halftime show over and over again until finally Mr. Page would signal us to line up in parade lines.  He marched us off the field and up the front driveway of the school.  He signaled us to parade rest and then he would march up and down the lines to see who was out of line.  All too often, I fell into that category.  He would stand at the end of my line and bark: “Someone’s out of line here!”  Our line would adjust and then we’d hear: “STILL out of line!”  We would readjust and then we’d hear: “WHAT’S SO HARD ABOUT MAKING A STRAIGHT LINE?!”  And we’d readjust until eventually, he’d walk away to correct another line.  I’d grit my teeth and wish I could quit.  But I’d never been a quitter and wasn’t going to start now.

The first night that I performed with the band, I was terrified.  I lined up with the rest of the band—in my navy, gold, and white long-sleeved uniform—praying that I wouldn’t die of heatstroke and that I would remember the notes to the songs and my correct steps in formation.  As the football team ran off the field at halftime, we began our march onto the field. 

I remember three things about that night.  First, I remember hearing the announcer’s voice booming across the field: “Please welcome your Hallsboro High School Marching Tiger band!”  I remember how the wet grass and mud clung to my white shoes as I moved through the formations.  And I remember that after we had completed the routine and marched completely off the field and out of the stadium, Mr. Page came to the front of the formation to dismiss us.  And when he stood in front of us, he smiled. 

It was a small smile—almost shy.  And it was very quick.  But it was a smile.  And just as quickly, it was gone.  But in that brief second, I knew exactly why I had suffered through it all.  Because that one tiny smile was worth everything else that I had to go through to earn it.  We all felt it and those occasional smiles fueled us to work hard and win first place at every contest we entered that year.

At the end of that year, our high school closed.  We had known it was coming.  All of our county schools were consolidating into three new, bigger schools.  The thought of a bigger band, full of people that I didn’t know was terrifying to me.  And Mr. Page had announced that he wasn’t going to go teach at the new school, which meant we’d have a new director, too.  It was all too much for me.  I decided that it was time for me to quit.  At the end of the semester, when we did pre-registration for fall semester, I simply didn’t sign up for band. 

I had always thought that Mr. Page didn’t like me.  Or at least, I assumed that he didn’t care about me.  I figured that to him I was just another kid to keep in line.  But when he found out that I hadn’t signed up for band, he called me into his office.  He invited me to sit down in the beat-up brown armchair and then he proceeded to lecture me about quitting the band.  I don’t remember what he said that day—his words were cancelled out by the emotions that I felt.  For the first time all year, I thought that just maybe, I was good enough.  Just maybe, I had some talent.  And though I still quit, I felt like I could walk away with my chin up instead of with my tail between my legs.

My entire life, I have been a perfectionist.  As hard on me as Mr. Page was, I have been infinitely harder on myself.  I have to walk a straight line, perfectly in step and in the right formation.  I try to hide in the back of the pack and not stand out.  If I think I’m going to fail at something, I usually won’t even attempt it.  And if I mess something up, I’ll spend hours or days reliving it in my mind, trying to figure out how I should have or could have done it better. 

The enemy has had a good time with me—keeping me focused on myself and focused on how to earn the love that God has so freely given me.  As I talk to the women around me, I find that it’s a pretty common strategy—to keep women so bound up in insecurity, fear, and self-centeredness that they don’t have the energy or confidence to do the ministries that they are called to.  We become secret-keepers and masqueraders—hiding what we believe are weaknesses and spending our lives trying to be on our best behavior.  In the process, we come off as fake and hypocritical instead of loving and accepting.

I thank God for His grace and for helping me more and more to see the world—myself included—through eyes of the Spirit instead of eyes of the flesh.  On those days when I’m hardest on myself, I am beginning to sense God calling me into his office and inviting me to sit down in his old, brown armchair and saying to me, “You’re okay. You just need a little practice. But I’ll take all the time you need to help you get it right. Now, chin up. Let’s go play.” 

Thanks to Alissa (Sahlstein) Watts for the picture.  That is our actual 1991-1992 HHS Band at the Pow-Wow Parade in Buckhead, NC.  If you had a magnifying glass, you might be able to see me in like the first or second row of the clarinets.

And now, Chapter 1—A Hole in the Whole

Of all the scriptures Stearns referred to in Chapter 1, the one that meant the most to me was this one:

“I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” (John 10:10)

I almost feel guilty when I read that scripture… Jesus came for me to have life—really full, abundant life. But I’m immediately assailed by emotions and memories. I think of that afternoon that I did this one horrible thing or that night that I snuck away with that guy or the years that I simmered in anger and unforgiveness over those other things that happened.

At the very beginning of Chapter 1, Stearns shares a quote from Dallas Willard and part of what that quote says is: “In reality, we vainly struggle against the evils of this world, waiting to die and go to heaven. Somehow, we’ve gotten the idea that the essence of faith is entirely a mental and inward thing.”

That doesn’t sound like abundant life to me. But I can completely identify with this feeling. And I think I’ll call it the Hanging on by the Tips of Your Fingers Syndrome. Stearns tells us more about what this looks like:

“Our view of the gospel has been narrowed to a simple transaction, marked by checking a box on a bingo card at some prayer breakfast, registering a decision for Christ, or coming forward during an altar call.”

You begin to get the feeling that salvation is a formula. If I do A plus B, I’ll get C. It becomes a “transaction” or a business deal instead of a relationship with Our Creator and The Lover of Our Soul. And when our own relationship with Christ begins this way, when we share the Gospel with others, we also portray it to them in that same formulaic A+B=C type of way. Whether we realize it or not, if we’re living our Christianity out in religious formulas and rituals and traditions, we’re simply hanging onto a cliff. If we are able to talk others into receiving Christ through our formula, they end up hanging from the cliff next to us, by the tips of their fingers! We all end up hanging from that cliff of religion, waiting for God to rescue us to Heaven.

Stearns’ foundation here in the first chapter is to tell us that there is more to life than hanging onto our salvation by our fingertips! The Hanging on by the Tips of Your Fingers Syndrome is essentially living a gospel with a hole in it. We’re so focused on Heaven that we don’t focus on the mission that God has given us here on earth. Stearns reminds us that “the kingdom of God, which Christ said is ‘within you’ (Luke 17:21 NKJV), was intended to change and challenge everything in our fallen world in the here and now.” (emphasis mine)

Stearns says that “God’s love was intended to be demonstrated, not dictated.” Certainly, the Holy Spirit is the One Who moves in people’s hearts, but we still have a responsibility to let go of the cliff of religion, show up and live our lives as an example to the world of abundant life.

Why do I need to be an example?

Well, here’s the thing… Everybody has faith in something. For some, it’s money. For some, it’s themselves. For some, it’s their spouse. For some, it’s politics or science. If we aren’t there to exhibit Christ as a viable option, how then can we expect them to choose Him? And if they don’t see Christianity working for us, then why should we expect them ever to choose it for themselves? As Stearns says we are called “not just to proclaim the good news but to be the good news, here and now.”

Are you living out God’s abundant life or are you hanging onto the cliff of religion, formulas, rituals, and traditions? If you’re hanging onto the cliff, are you ready to let go? Is your life a clear example to others of God’s abundant life? If it isn’t, how can you change (allow God to change you) so that it is? Are you ready to let God fill in the holes in your Gospel?

That’s what most of my life is like. I stumble around in the dark. I try not to inconvenience anyone or disrupt their lives. And I know that if I turn on the light, it’s going to hurt my eyes. So, I blindly go through the motions and as I do, I find that it really doesn’t work very well and that I run into painful circumstances.

There’s more than one problem with these scenarios.

First, I have to turn on the light to see. Really, it’s not that hard. Thanks to a very bright security light just outside my bedroom window, even with heavy blinds and a curtain, I can still see enough in my bedroom to find the switch on my bedside lamp. And because it’s a three-way bulb, I can turn it on pretty low and it’s not going to hurt my eyes that badly. But it will hurt some and that dread and fear keeps me from reaching from the light switch. And I’m going to break my toes on the furniture every time. (Yet somehow, that fear and the memory of that pain isn’t enough to cause me to turn on the light. How dumb is that?!)

Second, this feels very weird to say, but bear with me a minute… I have to stop worrying about being an inconvenience and a disruption. To protect myself, sometimes, I need to turn on the light, no matter who it wakes up or inconveniences or disrupts. Let me be really, really real here for a minute: my life has been in the dark enough and the wounds have had years to fester. It’s time to turn the light on and run the lies out of the shadows. And if that’s an inconvenience or a disruption to someone, they need to examine their own hearts and figure out why. (Do you get the feeling we’re no longer talking about my bedroom and its furniture? Well, you’re only half right.)

And now, let me jump the tracks a little. When we’re talking about my bedroom and my furniture and my multiple broken toes, the only person being hurt in this scenario is me. But in real life, when I stumble in the dark and refuse to turn on the light, I’m not just hurting myself. I’m hurting everyone in my life. I’m hurting the people that love me. I’m hurting the people that count on me. I’m hurting everyone I come into contact with because I’m not being the best me that I can be.

Tonight, I was reading the first chapter of the Gospel of John and I was struck by something I’d never really seen before. Look with me a minute:

John 1:35-39, 43-46 (NIV)

³⁵The next day John was there again with two of his disciples. ³⁶When he saw Jesus passing by, he said, “Look, the Lamb of God!”

 ³⁷When the two disciples heard him say this, they followed Jesus. ³⁸Turning around, Jesus saw them following and asked, “What do you want?”
      They said, “Rabbi” (which means Teacher), “where are you staying?”

 ³⁹“Come,” he replied, “and you will see.”
      So they went and saw where he was staying, and spent that day with him. It was about the tenth hour.

⁴³The next day Jesus decided to leave for Galilee. Finding Philip, he said to him, “Follow me.”

 ⁴⁴Philip, like Andrew and Peter, was from the town of Bethsaida. ⁴⁵Philip found Nathanael and told him, “We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law, and about whom the prophets also wrote—Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.”

 ⁴⁶“Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” Nathanael asked.
      ”Come and see,” said Philip.

In this chapter, Jesus is beginning to choose his followers. And the very first invitation he gives is, “come and see.” Later in the chapter, when Philip invites Nathanael to follow Jesus, he says the same thing: “come and see.”

Reading tonight, those two phrases reached out and grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go. Why wouldn’t they let me go?

Because that’s what God said to me when He created me in the workroom of Heaven. And when he birthed me into this world through my parents. And every step as I’ve walked through this world. He’s held my hand and said, “Come and see this world I’ve created for you. Come and see this world that I’ve created you for. Come and see everything I have in store for you. Join me on the adventure. Let me lead you and guide you and travel with you and love you and protect you and heal you and work through you.”

I’m turning on the light because I’m beginning to want to see every step of this journey with Him.

What about you? Are you walking in the light? Are you enjoying the journey with Him? If you aren’t walking in the light and enjoying the journey, are you willing to trust Him enough to step into the light and walk with Him? Just remember—it’s okay to be where you are—as long as you don’t stay there.

Last week, I took two very-much-needed days of comp time from work and break time from my life and went to the beach with my friend, Ginny, and her family. We talked, we laughed, we shopped, we ate. I chatted with her sweetheart of a husband and giggled with her two precious little girls. It was 36 hours of near-total relaxation and total lack of responsibility. In a word: heavenly.

I came home with a back full of sunburn and a heart full of memories. One of my favorites was when we were getting ready to walk across a parking lot at dinner time Thursday night and the four-year-old looked up at me with a serious face and said, “Miss Sarah, we have to hold hands in parking lots. I’ll hold yours.” My heart melted about then and I considered smuggling her home in my suitcase, but I’m pretty sure that Ginny would have a problem with that.

Friday morning, Ginny, the girls, and I hit the beach. The rule was that the little people could only go in to their knees and she stayed back with them. But as I’ve explained before, for a coastal native like me, beach rules are that you haven’t really been into the water unless you get completely wet from head to toe. So, I determined that even though it meant going out alone, I was going all the way in.

It wasn’t the sunniest day and it was a little breezy. The breeze added to the undertow just a bit, but I cautiously made my way out into the waves. And once I got out to the point that I was satisfied I’d gone far enough, I watched a flock of pelicans playing and thought about the fact that really, there are a lot of lessons that can be learned from a trip to the beach.

1.       Keep your eyes on a fixed point.

When the undertow is pulling at you, it’s really easy to get dragged out to sea, or at least, way out of my place. My first impulse was to keep my eyes on Ginny, since she was the person that I was there with. The problem was that she kept moving. The girls were running up and down the beach looking for shells and sharks’ teeth and she was following them. It didn’t take me long to realize that I’d be much smarter to keep my eyes on a fixed point. At the beach that fixed point was the aqua-colored umbrella that we had set our chairs and towels under. But in real life, that fixed point is Jesus.

2.       Watch your back.

To keep my eyes on my fixed point, I had to be looking toward the shore. But if I was only watching the shore, I had waves coming at me from behind. Getting blindsided by a large wave is a really good way to get hurt or drowned at the beach. My years of experience told me that the best way to handle this was to turn sideways, where I could see my fixed point, and also see the waves coming up behind me. It was much easier to conquer the waves when I could see them coming ahead of time so that I could judge how to confront them. Some of them were easily floated over, but some were so large that I had to dive over them or duck under them to keep from being overwhelmed by them. Seeing them ahead of time made them much easier to handle.

3.       Don’t go too far out by yourself.

When I came back to shore and collapsed on my towel on Friday, the four-year-old looked at me and said, “How come you went out to the deep end?” I brushed the sand from between my fingers and smiled at her.

“I like the deep end.”

And while that’s true, experience has told me that going out too far by oneself is just plain stupid and very dangerous. When I was 11 years old, my Mom had her gall bladder out and after her surgery, she shared a hospital room with a young girl who had been out swimming one evening, by herself. A wave had caught her unaware and slammed her into the sand. I watched this twenty-something young woman, lying partially paralyzed, in the bed next to my Mom’s and I knew that the ocean—though beautiful—was also powerful and dangerous—and sometimes deadly.

On Friday, I was careful not to go out further than the other folks that were out there. I’m a strong swimmer, but I only went out until the water was at my diaphragm when I stood up. And I stayed in close enough that if I got into trouble, I knew I could scream loud enough to alert folks that I needed help.

Honestly, I need to learn that lesson a little better in my own life. I’m often not cautious enough. I get way too far in over my head and then, I don’t ask for help because I would rather deny that I’m drowning and actually drown than for other people to recognize that I’m drowning. I’d like to say that I’m getting better at this, but the truth is that God often has to send “lifeguards” to paddle out and tell me to come back in to shore. But I guess that as long as I’m listening, maybe I’m learning, too.

Has God ever taught you a lesson at the beach? Does God often speak to you through nature? Can you identify with the three lessons He’s teaching me?

I’m breaking all the rules today and reposting a blog that I’ve already posted not once, but twice. But I can’t help it. It’s what’s on my heart tonight. I’ve been feeling broken lately and tonight, as I walked my dog under the just-past-full moon, the Holy Spirit nudged me that it was time for me to read this again… And so I figured that on the chance that my newer readers haven’t happened past this post, I’d share it with you, too. So, for the third time, here’s the story of the sand dollars:

When I was a little bitty girl, I began a personal quest: to find an unbroken sand dollar.  Anybody can go buy one from one of those tourist-trappy little stores.  But I was determined to examine every shell on the coast of NC until I found one myself.

When I told my mother of my quest, she told me that I’d never find one.  According to Mama, by the time a sand dollar makes it to the shore, the waves have beaten it and abused it so much that there’s very little chance that it would come to rest on the shore all in one piece.  She was born on the Crystal Coast.  She had been raised with sand in her bathing suit and hermit crabs nibbling at her toes.  She certainly knew what she was talking about.  But still, a trip to the beach never passed without me scanning the sand for a whole sand dollar.  And just as Mama said, I only ever found broken-up fragments.

I have a lot of happy memories from childhood.  Most of them include being at my grandmother’s house at the coast and being sunburned, playing with my brother and cousins.  But along with the happy memories, there are a lot of unhappy memories—many of them that I’ve mentioned in previous posts that I won’t bring up again now.  And at some point in my life, the unhappy times replaced the happy ones in my mind and the sadness began to take over—pushing me very near to suicide.

I can’t remember which Christmas it was.  But it’s been within the last few years…  My mother, her older brother, her baby sister, and I decided that the best way to walk off Christmas Dinner was a nice, brisk walk on the beach.  It was a cold day and the wind was sharp, blowing in off the waves.  But you couldn’t’ve dragged me off that beach with wild horses.  We bundled up until we looked ridiculous and took off walking down the beach.

I’m the shorty (5”2) in a family of extra-tall people.  I guess I got the recessive genes…  Which must also be where I got the blonde hair…  But because I have short legs, when we walk, I quickly get left behind.  Normally, I’ll sprint to catch up or call out to them to slow down.  But on this particular day, I found myself enraptured by the sound of the waves and hypnotized by the waving grasses on the nearby dunes.  I let Mama and the others walk ahead.  I slowed to a stop, looked out at the ocean and was so completely overtaken by a sense of the glory of God that I thought time had stopped. 

Mama’s voice broke into my thoughts.  ”You okay back there?”

“Yeah, Mama.  Go ahead.  Catch me on the way back.”

I began plodding along slowly, watching the waves lick the sand, wetting it and then sliding back out to let the sand dry.  My mind was wandering when I noticed that the last wave had carried something in and deposited it on the sand.  I took a few small steps and then, I saw it: a small, perfect sand dollar.  In awe, I pulled my warm hand out of my pocket and picked it up.  It was just the size of my small palm and I turned it over and over again, studying it, wet, sticky, and sandy against my skin.

See, I had a Christmas gift for you today.  I felt the voice of the LORD in my heart as clear as any spoken voice I’d ever heard before.  I stood, frozen to my spot and looked out across the waves at the horizon.

For me, Lord?  I blinked back tears and softly brushed the salt and sand off of the sand dollar.

This creature has been buffeted and beaten by the most brutal of waves.  It has crashed into the sand.  But it has not been broken.

Ever since I received that gift from God, I have kept the sand dollar and treasured it.  I still occasionally hold it in my palm and feel the majesty of God and the overwhelming love.  But that wasn’t the only lesson for me.

A couple of years ago, I went to the beach with a group of my friends from church.  We spent a weekend and had a great time, even though it was still too early to swim.  I watched my crazy guy friends “walk” down the sand on their hands and chase each other.  And I watched the girls walk the beach, picking up only the most perfect of shells.  The group had spread out all over the beach and I found myself alone, near the water, feeling the frigid water wash up over my feet and seeing what broken-up shells the tide brought with it.

The wind whipped my hair around wildly and I reached to hold it back with one hand.  Then, looking down, I saw a sand dollar sticking up out of the sand, I excited reached down to pick it up. 

LORD, another one?!

But when I pulled the shell out of the sand, I saw that the shell was broken almost exactly in half.  Disappointed, I instinctively began to let it fall from my hand back into the surf when a small voice stopped me.

Wait.  Keep it.  This one’s beautiful too—because it has a story.  It has a lesson to teach.  It has a purpose.  Its survival makes it beautiful.

For most of my life, I’ve been afraid for people to see my brokenness.  But God is showing me that although sometimes we can weather the storms without being broken, sometimes it’s okay to be broken.  A broken life—like mine—is beautiful too.  My life has a story.  It has a lesson to teach.  It has a purpose.  And its survival makes it beautiful. 

Today, I’m giving away one copy… My co-facilitator/friend, Jason Stasyszen, is giving away a copy at his site, Connecting to Impact… And one of our book discussion buddies, Duane Scott, is giving away a copy at his site, Scribing the Journey.

How fun is this?!

And my winner is:

Karin Fendick (aka @HisFireFly)

Karin, let me be the first to congratulate you! Make sure you email me your address at smsalter78@yahoo.com (or DM it to me) and I will get that in the mail to you immediately! Don’t forget that we begin the discussion of Chapter 1 next Wednesday! And I can’t wait!

Just by way of housekeeping, for those of you that aren’t very familiar with what’s going on here, each Wednesday, Jason and I will be posting discussions on The Hole in Our Gospel by Richard Stearns. We welcome you to join us whether you’ve read the chapter that’s being discussed or not. We know that you have valuable input either way! Our comment sections are open and we would love to hear what you have to say! But for those folks that have read the chapter and wish to discuss it further, Jason & I will take turns putting up a widget so that folks can post their responses blog-carnival-style. Please, join us and bring your friends. Everyone is welcome!

Now, let me give you a nugget to think about this week while you’re getting ready for Chapter 1.

In blocked, white print above the title of our book, there is a question. And it’s a question that I think we’ve all asked at one time or another:

WHAT DOES GOD EXPECT OF US?

“What is God asking for, really, from you and me? Much more than church attendance. More than prayer, too. More than belief, and even more than self-denial. God asks us for everything.” (p. 1)

“…we are carriers of the gospel—the good news that was meant to change the world. Belief is not enough. Worship is not enough. Personal morality is not enough. And Christian community is not enough. God has always demanded more. When we committed ourselves to following Christ, we also committed to living our lives in such a way that a watching world would catch a glimpse of God’s character—His love, justice, and mercy—through our words, actions, and behavior.” (p. 3)

The last two books that we’ve discussed have looked at the inside. Our “Spirit Man.” Well, now, it’s time for that Spirit Man to grow up, take some responsibility, and head out into the world.

As I was reading this book, I heard a pastor friend speak in the most boring of settings—a meeting. But what he said was so appropriate to what we’re reading here that I wrote it in the margins of my book.

“Accept the change God wants to make and choose each day to be relevant.” – Rev. Paul Brafford

Let me throw a few questions out there that I’m asking myself as I dive into this book.

What does God expect from me? Will that require me to make changes in my life? Am I willing to make those changes? What are the consequences if I don’t?

I’ve been back from Sudan for a month now and have posted a half dozen times about it. In case you missed a post, let me give you some quick links here:

• Returning from Sudan
• Falling in Love in Africa
• Africa’s Top Ten
• Tying Up Loose Ends
• When the Sun Rises at Midnight
• Scenes from Sudan

And before I leave the topic and move on, I have to make a request. Really, it’s more of a challenge and a call to action. Let me explain.

The first evening that we were in Kapoeta, our group sat jet-lagged and nodding, in a hot little tent next to The Akerman’s tukul. They gave us a standard orientation-type talk. Make sure there are no scorpions in your shoes before you put them on your feet. Don’t walk at night without a flashlight because that’s a great way to cross paths with a cobra or an adder. And don’t hurt the lizard in the bathroom. He’s our friend because he eats the bugs.

But then, even though I was nearly comatose and practically falling out of my chair with exhaustion, I heard Alesa mention that they would be leaving Sudan in December and they didn’t know when they’d be returning. I’m not sure my eyes opened, but my ears did. And later, when I’d had some sleep, I began to question the missionaries about why they were leaving…

Sudan is the largest country in Africa and the 10^th largest country in the world. And one thing it has never been known for is peace. In fact, only since 2005 has there been a tentative hold on peace. The Arab Muslims from the North decided long ago that they wanted control of the South (mostly populated by non-Arab, non-Muslim Sudanese tribes) so that they would also have control of the natural resources, which are predominantly found in the South. Petroleum and oil. Diamonds and gold. All found in the South and largely desired by the North. And on January 15, 2011, there will be something known as “The Referendum.” On that day, all of Sudan will vote about whether or not the South will secede from the North. Popular belief is that the vote will pass and that yes, the South will secede. However, the North has said that if that does occur, they will not allow it to happen peacefully.

What does that mean for the ministry?

In December, the missionaries and the pastor (an American lady pastor that arrived after we left) will return to the US. They’ll enjoy Christmas with their families and then wait to see what The Referendum brings.

The afternoon after this was all explained to me, I lay on my back in my tukul, staring up at the tiny holes in the corrugated tin above my head and out at the thorns of the acacia trees outside my screen and I mourned. I said, “Lord, all of this time and energy and money has been invested into this mission compound here. People are being cared for and fed and educated and they’re meeting You! What’s going to happen when the missionaries leave? And what’s going to happen if the compound gets destroyed in another war?”

And then, in a whisper, I heard the answer:

“This is My ministry. These are My people. I have begun a work here and regardless of the turnout of The Referendum, I will be faithful to complete it. You may not understand how I do it. But I will complete it.”

And then, He brought me to Hosea 6:1-3.

“Come, and let us return to the LORD; for he has torn, but he will heal us; He has stricken, but he will bind us up. After two days he will revive us; on the third day he will raise us up, that we may live in his sight. Let us know, let us pursue the knowledge of the LORD. His going forth is established as the morning; he will come to us like the rain, like the latter and former rain to the earth.”

So now, my request or my call to action, if you will. I have come to know that many of you that frequent this small spot of cyberspace that I call “home” are prayer warriors. Will you please, now, join me in prayer for Sudan? Write them in your prayer journal or on your bathroom mirror or on the front of your refrigerator—or on your heart—and pray for them. My prayer is that peace with reign in their lives—but more importantly, in their hearts. My prayer is that Jesus will be known in Sudan and that knees will bow to confess His Lordship over Sudan. My prayer is that lives will be changed and hearts will be healed and that Christ will be glorified in Sudan.

Will you pray with me? How will you pray?