Violently tossed and remarkably held

[From a devotional by C.H. Spurgeon]

"There were also with Him other little ships." — Mark 4:36

Jesus was the Lord High Admiral of the sea that night, and His presence preserved the whole convoy. It is well to sail with Jesus, even though it be in a little ship. When we sail in Christ's company, we may not make sure of fair weather, for great storms may toss the vessel which carries the Lord Himself, and we must not expect to find the sea less boisterous around our little boat. If we go with Jesus we must be content to fare as He fares; and when the waves are rough to Him, they will be rough to us. It is by tempest and tossing that we shall come to land, as He did before us. When the storm swept over Galilee's dark lake all faces gathered blackness, and all hearts dreaded shipwreck.

When all creature help was useless, the slumbering Saviour arose, and with a word, transformed the riot of the tempest into the deep quiet of a calm; then were the little vessels at rest as well as that which carried the Lord. Jesus is the star of the sea; and though there be sorrow upon the sea, when Jesus is on it there is joy too. May our hearts make Jesus their anchor, their rudder, their lighthouse, their life-boat, and their harbour. His Church is the Admiral's flagship, let us attend her movements, and cheer her officers with our presence. He Himself is the great attraction; let us follow ever in His wake, mark His signals, steer by His chart, and never fear while He is within hail.

Not one ship in the convoy shall suffer wreck; the great Commodore will steer every barque in safety to the desired haven. By faith we will slip our cable for another day's cruise, and sail forth with Jesus into a sea of tribulation. Winds and waves will not spare us, but they all obey Him; and, therefore, whatever squalls may occur without, faith shall feel a blessed calm within. He is ever in the centre of the weather-beaten company: let us rejoice in Him. His vessel has reached the haven, and so shall ours.

CanIL's First Scripture Celebration Day and some Mon-thoughts...

To say a class is changing my life might be an overstatement; but to say that I have experienced quite an incredible shift of understanding is not nearly saying enough. Goodness, Scripture Use has taken everything I know about the concepts surrounding Bible Translation, and carved open the chest on it, exposing a wild heart, and some complicated, throbbing veins.

Where other Linguistics courses I've taken so far teach the technical ins-and-outs about what we need to know about language in order to get any of this right, this class throws an anchor back into the discussion and reminds me about all of the living layers of things we must learn about people and cultures in order to not mess the language and translation stuff up!

Week after week in this class, we receive an arsenal of stories of how the "smallest" of details can deeply matter in how a different culture receives the Word of God, and daily I find my heart thrumming with the grace-filled, glorious fact that He has placed bits of HIS image in each of these people groups, and we must find the pieces of that, and point to them; indicate HIM in the places that they will recognize Him, and then show all the other facets of who He is that are maybe completely counter-cultural.

One of the things that Scripture Use focuses on, then, is local arts within a culture, so that when the Bible begins to be translated,...when there's even just ONE VERSE, believers within the culture can begin working with the translation team to spread the message through indigenous songs, print-media, dramas, works of art, traditional paintings, ANYTHING that speaks of God to the culture from the culture. 

This need was brought home to me most in the tiny quote of a Tanzanian pastor that my friend told me about the other day... Her parents are missionaries, and a few years ago this pastor-friend relayed a message of years of pain and wounding that came from initial missionary-efforts, many years ago. He said: "When you brought us the Word, it was like a loaf of bread, SO nourishing, but wrapped in the Westerners' baggie. We were so hungry for it that we ate the whole thing, and now we are choking on the plastic."

This breaks my heart, and it isn't Christ's intention in the least. Although Western hymns and ancient traditions can bring life and meaningful teaching, if they are the only way that we deliver the Word or "establish church," we lose so much, we dwarf the hearts and the image in those hearts of the One who saves, whose Personality is vivacious, vivid, color-on-fire, holy and utterly, creatively magnificent. Instead of showing this though, we show "new rules," new heart languages that "can't be spoken", wordlessly communicating ideas about how God can only be reached with Western ways and that the LIFE of their community might be bad. His heart, though, is for all to know Him, and to express that seeking, knowing, learning, teaching, and worshipping out in the context of the culture that He has lovingly planted them in.

Scripture Use is teaching me to empower local artists and believers in any culture to engage with what the Word says, so that they can create for their church Body, for themselves, for their local radio programs, for their children's church, so that ALL might hear inside the glorious nuances of the cultural soil their hearts and identities have grown in, and so that we do not squelch what the Spirit is doing by presenting the Bible in a form that will cause great harm, misunderstanding, pain, or sharp mis-teachings simply because we didn't know enough about the people, the history, and the culture before we thought we could use certain words or forms and assume that they would communicate the same thing.

All this to say, my head and my heart are so full....so prayerfully FULL of new things to step boldly and delicately with. It has been so encouraging to take all this in, and to know that even though this spills a daunting light onto the intricacies of the task, it also shows me more of my Lord's glimmering sides.

In the process of this learning, I got to take part last week in something truly special at school... For the first time, the Canada Institute of Linguistics threw a sort of community-party focused on celebrating Scripture, and presenting some "commissioned artworks" that our class's students presented - [ask me about "mine" sometime, and I'll tell you about this great kid named Isaiah that rocked a piece of Spoken Word Poetry via video, and the process we underwent to make it happen!!!]..  

So the Celebration included a group of us as presenters to a crowd of around 250 people, as well as a cyclists' "Ride for Translation" in the morning, that did an incredible job or raising funds for future CanIL student scholarships, a lunch banquet, a Parade of Nations, and several mini-modules that guests could choose from about Linguistics topics like Phonetics and testimonies to what it's like serving in closed-countries...

Below are some photos taken by the incredible Jacob Bowdoin and Moss Doerksen, to give you a glimpse into the day.

What I'm learning outside of class...

Okay. So here’s some straight-talk — the vulnerable, confessional kind that I’ll feel itchy about when I hit “post” :)…

I’ve been here for almost a month already! How very good these weeks have been, so full of joy, new ideas to consider, digest, and operate from, but whelming in task-volume, weighty in function, and wearying in sheer speed.

The first two weeks of classes found me ecstatic with learning but drowning in spite of my efforts to juggle everything… I’d underestimated the combination of these two dense courses, an on-campus job every evening, and my work with Wycliffe to be in touch with and update partners and generally prepare for my future work on the field in all the non-academic ways... My mind had been repeatedly boxing with the time-limitations I’d come crashing into, and the four hours of sleep a night were spiraling quickly into frazzlement (surely, this is a word!)!

By the end of the first week, God had my undivided attention, as I pushed to seek Him on “how to do all of this—how to prepare well, with devotion and gusto, and still be sane?!”  How odd that I wasn’t prepared for the answer, still…..

               —This missionary thing… my goodness, it takes so much getting used to, so much rewriting of our ingrained American culture and instincts. As I sought God’s wisdom in my frustration, He began to reiterate the shift He’s been executing in my life – absolute plate tectonics – voluntary No Man’s Land…  His whispered reply was:

“I brought you here to study, to learn from community and to prepare academically. You added work, dearone, you wanted to plan for every grocery and display financial wisdom in advance, but you are no longer living that life. This new life of yours involves trusting you will be fed, praying when you have a need, and learning to ask; not striving on the side in something I haven’t appointed for you to focus on right now… It is time, Little One.”

This correction is difficult.

It moves me from something I know to be good (working to provide for ourselves) to something unknown, invisible, something that feels dangling to us “responsible folk”… And I’ve been stepping into living on the support of the Church and the community, family, and friends that are permitting and enabling me to be one of their ambassadors of Christ, but with training wheels until now. I hadn’t even realized that I hadn’t fully let go; that I was clutching a little at my part-time work that made this “a little less scary”.

And then, Messiah turns up the heat of preparation, mercifully allows me to come to the place of abandon with my stubborn heart on its own, and in my shaky exertion, once again shows me where I’ve been holding on to things that are good, but are just not for now.

And the exceptional part is this——immediately after bringing me to this realization, and after I wrote to my supervisors to discuss stepping down from this job (though no one else was told of my need or struggle!), I received, in incremental notifications, the announcement that two of my current financial partners were increasing their support, and that there were two new one-time gifts coming in from others this month… This support equaled the amount of income needed for the rest of June that I would be walking away from by leaving the job!…  His goodness—ahh!!—how silly that we worry at all! But I am learning…

SO, if you think of it, keep praying for this journey for me, and I for you, that we might be so wrapped up in Him that what’s for now can be nimbly redirected at a moment as He keeps us engulfed in His voice, His presence, and His perfectly unhurried unfoldings, as we wait to see how He will provide each next time…

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A 5-second pause for silliness

Today’s dose of “Grad. Student List-Incredulity”:

An Ode, in pictures, to the ink-strewn hand-list, for keeping me sane.

A weekend jaunt before classes began -or- A Place from Another Time

Today is the second day of classes, and it’s been a happy whirl of a gray-skied morning, running about and finalizing costs and textbook-acquiring, along with a Social Insurance Number so that I can work my small cleaning job on campus this summer…

I can’t wait to tell you more about these classes and how they’ll prepare me for work in PNG, but I thought today, that in honor of “the calm before the storm” of coursework, I would take a moment to celebrate the slow-paced lovely weekend I had, getting to know some of the women in the home I’m living in and re-acquainted with the little town the school is situated in...

On Saturday, I walked myself into Fort Langley, which is a little village in the already little township of Langley, and it’s the cutest! The walk was beautiful, and very good for clearing my travel-head and unpacking-hands. Here are some highlights for those that want to “visualize” my first few days back here:

This woman and her amazingly calm sidekick-pup were volunteering at the old rail station. They show guests around a lonely caboose that sits in a grassy yard, and she unlocked a lovely, tiny, whitewashed room for me in the back of the old station that held some local artists' paintings. 

Another volunteer was waiting in the caboose to show me some relics of the Canadian National (CN) rail. She pointed a long, serious finger at the white cloth suitcase in the center, and said “Do you know what that suitcase’s name is?”... And then answered herself with a cheeky grin and “Its name is ‘Please-Don’t-Rain’!”  

I KNOW some of my family and friends (ahem!..Paul A. and my cousie’s Joyce and Mike!) who watch “Once Upon a Time” might recognize this… They’ve filmed some of the show’s early scenes here, as Storybrooke’s town hall! It is actually the Fort Langley Community Hall.

And then back again…

I've arrived in Canada! And here's some about my travel day...

I’m quite the suspicious character. 

Or at least that’s what the Canadian border officers thought this time! I flew on Wednesday from Atlanta to Dallas, and Dallas to Vancouver, and other than some weather making the first flight's take-off a little late, everything went very smoothly until I arrived in Canada. I had some dear friends from last summer meeting me at the airport, but the process from landing to finally getting to meet them behind a glass door took about two hours! 

The Vancouver airport was considerably quiet in the evening, and by the time I was in line to sort out my student visa, we could see staff was a bit low and everyone had been working for many hours already..   I was part of a motley line of mostly forlorn faces---one plaid-clad young man explaining that he'd been Ecuador-bound but "no one from his charity had been there to meet him, and so he was sent back", one American couple distraught over lost bags, one South American family with an adorable child that needed to breath from his nubilzer treatment while they waited to situate entry plans. There were so many stories, tired and waiting, in front of me, and I found myself grateful for the workers before us, trying to stay positive and discerning  as they looked over each person's documents and asked them questions..

When it was all said and done, everything for my entry was fine, I just hadn't brought official- enough proof of the address I would be living at or of the small on-campus job I will be working. I was granted the visa and was able to tromp out to my waiting chariot of people, and groggily chatter with them all the way to Langley to crash to sleep after 20-some hours of being awake!

The rest of the travel day was beautiful though, and I took a few photos out of the plane windows for you of some of the things that caught my breath:

Sunset over the British Columbia coast as we circled for a landing!

Between dust and flowing water

“Between Times
Paul Tournier, in A Place for You, describes the experience of being in between—between the time we leave home and arrive at our destination; between the time we leave adolescence and arrive at adulthood; between the time we leave doubt and arrive at faith. It is like the time when a trapeze artist lets go the bar and hangs in midair, ready to catch another support: it is a time of danger, of expectation, of uncertainty, of excitement, of extraordinary aliveness.

Christians will recognize how appropriately these psalms [Psalms 120-134] may be sung between the times: between the time we leave the world’s environment and arrive at the Spirit’s assembly; between the time we leave sin and arrive at holiness; between the time we leave home on Sunday morning and arrive in church with the company of God’s people; between the time we leave the works of the law and arrive at justification by faith. They are songs of transition, brief hymns that provide courage, support and inner direction for getting us to where God is leading us in Jesus Christ.

Meanwhile the world whispers, “Why bother? There is plenty to enjoy without involving yourself in all that. The past is a graveyard—ignore it; the future is a holocaust—avoid it. There is no payoff for discipleship, there is no destination for pilgrimage. Get God the quick way; buy instant charisma.” But other voices speak—if not more attractively, at least more truly.”

-Eugene H. Peterson
A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, p.20

In the previous post, I mention a fortuitous coffee-date that I got to have this week, where we closed down the shop and were asked to continue our conversation outside ;)...

At one point in this long conversation, we hit a silly note, referring to a need for a "dating tips" site in regards to the life of a disciple of Christ ("How to keep it fresh when you've been together for 20+ years",  ha!)...  It feels very laughable to have typed that out, but what hit a chord for me is that, especially in this year of transitioning towards the missionary lifestyle, far from family, friends, and often a church Body, I am on a quest to sort out what a mature, fully grounded and steadfast discipleship should look like, apart from the structure that I am blessed to have just because I grew up around established church programs and awesome opportunities to learn from other believers on a daily and weekly basis...

When I look at not being utterly submerged in that in the future, the urgency of personal discipline is unveiled in the most real way I've ever experienced. This is most certainly a concept I've taken seriously all my life, and I was blessed with parents and a church that never for a second let me think that faith is "grandfathered-in", but in my most honest moments, I know that the Christian culture in America makes it very easy to think I know how to feed myself, because there is never a lack of spiritual food at my fingertips, and I have surely fallen into living off of what I can absorb “just  by showing up” before. 

But the beautiful side-effect of living on a precipice is that it mirrors back to me what   should   not   be.   And so alongside this journey towards serving in the Bible Translation process, I am on a journey to live in that vulnerable, chest-cavity-open-on-an-operating-alter kind of honesty, and to rediscover, each day, what intimacy with Christ can look like--and how alive  a "long obedience in the same direction" can be.  One of the most poignant characteristics that long seasons of sickness wrought out in me was the will  involved in submitting my heart and direction, not because there was a mountain peak coming, but just because the One I followed was deeply trustworthy, even if the journey felt ugly and painful.    In the last year though, He has been whispering me into a subsequent understanding of obedience and discipline----dancing me out of a fertile but somber valley, and onto unknown rocks and adventure. I have been praying that my submission would learn how to travel between these heavy and light hearted seasons with grace, whimsy, and praise, and that I would not loosen my grip on Him, depending on the form of the season…  

And may this be contagious. May we, irregardless of our different contexts, see the need to quest forward----for closeness with each other and with Him, for divine passion for what He's placed in us to do and be,  for hearts that would have no rest in or patience for our own nestled apathy, but would all seek the transition between dust and flowing water.

Redeeming what could have been "Stranded Friday"

[A Friday morning song I'd love for you to hear (referred to later in this post!)]


I never have trouble understanding that “no man is an island”.

This feels like in-grown knowledge that I’m always certain of, and more often than not, it’s harder for me to handle being in situations that make me feel like one. I don't dislike solitude, and longingly crave it sometimes, but this week has been one of those funny convergences of lots of solitude that just sort of happened by default…  Krissy and Chris have been on vacation, so this big house has been devoid of anyone but me and the Great Companion Scout. I have been working a lot this week too, because everyone in the office is at a conference, and whenever this has happened anytime in the last 3 years, I’ve been the Fort-Holder-Downer for the team…that’s just what we do, and it works wonderfully. 

BUT—It also means that the office has been down to one or two people, and much quieter than usual. THIS much quiet (waking up to it, driving to work in it, rolling in it from 9-5, and returning home to it for a quiet evening) for days and days in a row has historically made me squirrelly, itchy for people and stories, voices and interaction. It's just how God wired me. 

BUT—This week I've found Him beautifully pushing on those wires, and making enough quiet room for me to have space to notice His provision. In the midst of this plan for the Silent Bustle Week, my car broke down. I was running to go meet a dear woman for a we-haven't-done-this-in-TOO-LONG coffee-chat, and it was going to be my reprieve from the first few days of being on my own. "Err-errr-ERrrrrrr" went my little Sentra, and nothing I could do would coax it out of stubborn stuckness. 

BUT—I keep being reminded that His timing is good, even for brokenness.
The breakdown happening this week meant there was a vehicle to borrow, and work has gone on just as it needed to. Such a blessing! I was able to get to the needed, nourishing conversation, wherein we out-night-owled the coffee shop, and I've been able to have the time and solitude in the evenings that I've needed to re-kindle fervent prayer — Prayer about provision and "first world needs" like car repairs, about habits that I want to strengthen in my life that I have time to notice when it gets hushed and still, about awesome decisions that are coming up concerning Papua New Guinea, and the name of a region that I've been asked to pray about working in once I'm initially settled in... 

It is only in solitude that things like this get to roll around my mind and tongue the way they should... In this solitude, my heart readjusts its need to process out loud with someone, and finds itself reminded that Christ knows my voice and wants to hear these things first. He knows the name of this region in PNG and knows every person there. He knows what's wrong with my car and how He will sort out every worry of mine, so much so that He would prefer I let the air out of those worries before I decide it's holy to fill them up and let them fly upward like wind-hoisted balloons...

So this morning was about a joy-filled, weightless, extra-early drive to work in a borrowed car, where my heart found thanks and felicity dribbling out of it (to the tune of the song above!), with the comfortable knowledge that it is well, and that we ought to be singing while we wait to see the surprising, jubilant provision of the Lord. Happy Friday, dearest loved ones. May you feel Him so warmly in your rush or silence today too.