Worth the Wait

"Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you."

 

~ Matthew 7:7

 

 

You’ve been on a long, strenuous journey. Each step is a battle as your body cries out in pain. Your heart grows heavy when you examine the vast expanse of barren land stretching out to taunt you. But then, you see it- the faint outline of a house in the distance. As you grow closer, you see that there is a gleaming light radiating from the windowsills. At first, hope flickers inside you like the glow of a fitful lightning bug, but from there it begins to grow. It glimmers with all of its eager brilliance and illuminates the most dark and desperate chambers of your soul. It’s the hope that maybe, just maybe, some compassionate spirit in that house will open his doors, take you in, and give you a place to rest your weary eyes. He’ll give you something to satisfy your emaciated stomach. He’ll help you find the hope you’ve been looking for all along.

 

The very thought is enough to turn your burdened gait into a rejuvenated sprint. The bitter wind eats at the nape of your frostbitten neck, but you push against it with everything you have. Finally, with a pounding heart and bated breath, you find yourself on the doorstep of this house, this fortress- an ornate mansion that towers over you in greatness. Anxiously, you pound on the door with your trembling fist. Nothing. You knock a little harder- furiously, even.

 

“Please, sir. Let me in,” you mutter desperately. “I know you can hear me!” Silence. Earsplitting silence. We don’t know whether to be more persistent in our plea, or to dejectedly walk away.

 

Isn’t this how we feel with God sometimes? We’ve come so far. We’ve knocked so hard. We’ve waited so long for Him to bring us into His embraces, to offer us peace and rest. But it seems as if He’s remained silent. He’s left us out in the cold to grovel in our despair. He must be the callous mansion owner watching over us from His lofty place of warmth and comfort; He must be mocking us in our agony. Believe me. I know the feeling. I know what it’s like to feel as if my fervent prayers somehow disintegrate into all of God’s incomprehensible breadth. I know what it’s like too feel like I’m so low on His priority list that I’ve just been shoved to the bottom of the stack. I know what it’s like to feel like His pawn in some sick, twisted game. I’ve been there. We all have, at some point or another- whether we’ve never been able to muster a prayer or whether we’ve prayed the same one 1,000 times.

 

And in the midst of it all, we are challenged with a word, a command, that arouses torrents of overwhelming frustration: “Wait.” Wait for things to get better. Wait for reconciliation in that relationship. Wait to find what you’re looking for. Wait for healing Wait for peace. Wait.

 

“Wait, God? Are you freaking kidding me? Do you know how cold it is out here? Do you know how lost, hungry, and hopeless I am? Why on Earth do you want me to wait!?”

 

I know that nothing can be said to relieve the temporary affliction that accompanies periods of prolonged suffering. But I can offer a few eternal promises: your perseverance will strengthen you; it will conform you to the image of God: “For we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character, hope. And this hope will not disappoint us because God’s love has been poured out to us through Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 5:3-5). You will be renewed and your steps will be refreshed; you won’t just walk- you’ll soar: “But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they’ll mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not become weary; they shall walk and not become faint” (Isaiah 40:31).  You will yield a reward far greater than what seems imaginable: “Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains. You also, be patient, for the coming of the Lord is at hand” (James 5:7-8). Greater things are coming. Greater things you will find if you seek them earnestly, no matter how long and strenuous the journey may be. No matter how long you’re waiting on the doorstep.

 



 

            And while you’re waiting? By no means do you have to like it. By no means do your prayers have to be “nice.” It’s perfectly okay to raise your voice with God; I don’t think He minds. It’s okay to knock harder- put a hole in the door, if absolutely necessary. God will see your persistence. Into your persistence, He will pour His incredible power. Others will see your faith, and they’ll be stunned. (Or maybe they’ll think you’re crazy. That’s okay too.) Your renewed spirit will shine bright enough to illuminate a thousand nights. And when the time is right, the bitter winds will shift. The horizon will brighten. A benevolent man with scarred hands and a compassionate gaze will come down to greet you. You’ll find that in His house are many rooms, filled with broken, imperfect people. All along, He has been preparing a place for you. It offers shelter. It offers hope and healing. It offers reconciliation. It offers satisfaction and peace. And it’s far greater than anything you ever could have imagined. You rest in this man’s embrace and thank Him for hearing your cry. He commends you for not giving up.

 

            So don’t give up.

            Keep on asking- because the life you receive will be abundant.

            Keep on seeking- because you might be surprised at what you find.

           

            Keep on knocking- because when the door finally creaks open, what lies beyond the threshold will be worth the wait.

 

 



When Windows Break

     “There’s a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

~ Leonard Cohen

 

Do you ever wish that everything was made of plexiglass, that material that won’t break no matter how hard outside forces beat upon it? Do you ever wish that no storm, no matter how brutal, could shatter the windows by which you see the world, and by which the world sees you? Do you ever wish that you were as whole on the inside as you act on the outside- that you could lift the opaque shutter that you have so carefully garbed yourself with so that a warm, radiant light could cascade in?

 



 

It seems as though our society has an impenetrable, perhaps even unbreakable, fear of brokenness. We live our day to day lives as if we can simply hide behind a shade of immaculate wholeness- because what would happen if people could see beyond the beloved façade? What would happen if people could see inside the gaping holes that make us who we are, if they could see the jagged shards of glass crumbling to the ground in hopelessness? Somehow, we put ourselves under the suffocating impression that we’re the only ones, the only ones who have something missing, the only ones who are crumbled and so seemingly irreparable. Somehow, everyone else has it all together.

 

I am a victim of this mindset, and it’s not just something that lingers in my past. I am a professional in the business of putting up a front. I smile way too much, even when I’m not actually happy. I’m always “Fantastic” every time someone asks because I feel like it’s expected of me. I hate admitting that I need help as I try so fiercely to help those around me. A passerby may look at the quiet, simple shutter I have drawn and see tranquility without knowledge of the angry tornado that has blown through. Behind the shutter, dusty cobwebs fester. More glass falls. No light comes in. No light goes out. Just darkness. Painfully comfortable darkness. Yet somehow, I am blinded to it. It looms over everything I say and do- even with God. I’ll plead on behalf of everyone else under the sun- and when it comes to the end of my lukewarm prayers? “Oh, yeah. I’m fine God. Peachy, really.” As if I could fool the one who has numbered the very hairs on my head. As if He doesn’t know the prideful, guilty condition of my heart.

 



 

But He does. David, a biblical king who was no stranger to brokenness, perhaps expresses this better than anyone. In an epiphany of God’s incredible omniscience, he cries out: “O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me . . . I can never escape your spirit! I can never flee your presence!” (Psalm 139:1,7) We can’t play games with God. He isn’t impressed with our false expressions of wholeness. He’s like that one friend who always knows when we’re lying. And something tells me God really doesn’t appreciate being lied to.

 

He despises a deceitful tongue. But you know what He doesn’t despise? A broken spirit. Take a look at what David says in Psalm 51 as He laments before God with fresh authenticity: “You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it. You do not take pleasure in burnt offerings. My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, God, you will not despise.” It is in our times of greatest despair that God longs to heal us with the complete sufficiency of Himself. He knows our needs and our inequities. He isn’t the arrogant man who abhors the rugged mess of a broken window. He’s the pesky dove who lands on the windowsill and longs to come inside.  God isn’t afraid of what you have hidden behind a shutter of durability. There’s a reason He didn’t make you out of plexiglass. He made you out of weak, fragile human flesh- not so that you feel broken and beaten down, but so that you feel broken and lifted up. Because at the end of the day, He looks at the heaping pile of shattered glass that you have tried so hard to cover up and says, “Wow. I made that. And I love it so, so much.”

 

It’s okay to admit that you don’t have it all together. It’s okay to express your fears, your doubts, and your weaknesses. It’s okay to fall on your knees and cry out to God in helpless desperation. Slowly but surely, the shutter will be lifted. A luminescent glow will pierce through the void left by your beautiful brokenness. With this glow, you will be rescued from the shadows of darkness. You will be freed from your blindness. You will see that you aren’t the only one; you never were. God will take all of the fragments that you’ve been struggling to put together into His own hands. He’ll help you find wholeness.

 

But personally? I think He’ll leave a small crack so that His divine light might always find its way through.

 





One Thing Remains

“Whatever is good and perfect comes down from God our Father, who created all the lights in the heavens. He never changes or casts a shifting shadow.”

~ James 1:17

 

There are quite few things in life that I’m just absolutely terrible at. Take athletics, for instance. I can barely walk in a straight line, much less run, handle a ball, and fight off my competitors all at the same time. And art. I mean, I guess I could splatter some paint on a canvas and someone would call it art, even though that’s still pushing it a little. But of all the things in this world that I’m not so great at, I’m the worst at change. It makes my head ache and my skin crawl. I hold so many things close to my heart, and I hate letting go of them. Conveniently enough, I’m approaching that time of year where a lot of things start changing. New school year. New classes. New teachers. New friends. New joys. New hearbreaks. And I don’t quite know how to prepare myself for it all. Sometimes I wish time would just freeze and allow me to soak up all of the precious things that today has to offer. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. Like a cruel thief, time has a way of stealing everything we cling to. All we are left with is tomorrow, in all of its daunting uncertainty and swelling excitement.

                                                                 

 

            I could spend this post talking about how we should respond to change in all of its forms. I could even write out a nice, neat, five-step formula for you. But like I said earlier, I’m not very good at change, so I’m probably not the best person to ask. (I’m also not too great with formulas, so it could actually just be a recipe for disaster.) All I can really say is that in the face of change, some things are constant. The appearance of the sky always changes, but it’s still the same sky. So maybe instead of focusing on the clouds, we should focus on the persistence of the heavens themselves. Instead of focusing on what I can say to inspire you in times of rapid adjustment or sudden destruction, maybe I should focus on what can never be destroyed, no matter what the skies may contain.

 

            I don’t know who’s reading my blog at any given moment. This particular post is specifically dedicated to my friends leaving for college in the coming days, but if given the opportunity to speak to the entire world, these next few words would be the ones to pass my lips. I desperately pray that my actions have always been a testament to them because I know that actions are far more powerful than words alone. But if you ever get anything out of this blog, or out of having known me personally, please, make it this: No matter how small you may feel in such a big world, you are not worthless. You are beautiful, and you are loved. I know what its like to doubt, to hurt, and to struggle, but I believe in a God who never once doubted His love for me- or you. He loves you so much it hurts. Your name is etched in the wounds on His hands and in His sides. Sometimes, Christians do a crappy job at communicating this message, and I’m so sorry for that. It’s because we’re people, and people can be pretty crappy. (I know I can be pretty crappy.) I say this all the time, but I don’t know everything, as much as I wish I did. I do know that my relationship with God has transformed me and continues to do so, even on the days when my failures are beyond words. Because God doesn’t look at us and see our failures. He sees Himself: “Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory” (Romans 5:1-2). No matter what chapter of life you’re in, God is writing a story for you that is filled with grace, beauty, and redemption. When everything around you crumbles, He will lift you in His tender hands and take you far above the ruins.

 

            You were created for rich and abundant life, and no one can take that away from you. Pursue that authentic abundance with everything you have. Take risks, and follow your dreams and passions; they’re there for a reason. Most of all, ask God to increase your capacity to love others selflessly. And don’t just love when it’s easy. Love when it costs you. Because if you only love those who love you in return, what reward do you have? Lay down your life for your enemies. Allow your compassion to triumph over your fears. Let your life overflow in indulgent, unconditional love. I strongly believe that the love you put into the world will come back to you in the end. And even though I quote this verse all the time, I strongly believe that true love, which comes from God, will be the light that allows us to behold the magnificent image of wholeness that our hearts cry out for: “Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God knows me completely. Three things will last forever- hope, faith, and love- but the greatest of these is love” (1 Corinthians 13:12-13).

 

            We live in a world of constant change, but when we cling to the hope that some things are eternal, we race towards tomorrow with gleaming eyes. We can believe that by the strength of that which does not fade away, all of the tears will be wiped from our eyes, sorrow and pain will be no more, death will be wiped away, and all things will be made new. We are beautiful, and we are loved- not just for this divine day in the future, but for all the days of our lives. And so we do not have to run from or fear change as we are covered by the greatest thing that remains- a love that never changes.

* I love music, and I feel like this song says it all much better than I ever could.

                                                                                       

 

Walking on Water

There’s something really philosophical about standing on the beach and looking out at the ocean. Maybe it’s the way the emerald green waters extend far beyond the horizon to meet an infinite panel of deep blue sky. It absolutely blows my mind that anything could be bigger or greater than the expanse of the sea enveloped in the expanse of the heavens. It makes me feel so small and insignificant. I feel even more insignificant when I realize that indeed, God’s love and grace are in fact deeper than the deepest ocean, and wider than the sky. Or maybe it’s the way the waves rush back out into the unknown to remind me of life’s ever-changing, yet ever-constant nature. Or maybe it’s the way my eyes wander down as my feet beneath the innumerable grains of sand. How crazy is it to think that God can hold each tiny grain of sand in the mere palm of His hand, and not one will slip through?

                                                                                  

 

(Like, really. Is this not just absolutely breathtaking?)

                                                                              

 

       But then, as the sun begins to set, the sky begins to darken, and the winds begin to pick up, my mind wanders to a timeless story that has become the center of countless sermons, poems, those slightly cheesy paintings of Jesus. You know, the ones where He stands atop the raging seas as if it were simply a casual stroll.  The scene seems unfathomable. Impossible, even. An ordinary man doing the extraordinary. Walking on water.

 

To me, walking on water isn’t about doing what’s impressive to man. Actually, when Jesus did it, His miraculous act wasn’t so well received. When His disciples, who He was so desperately walking towards, saw Him, they cried out in fear, thinking that they had seen a ghost. It certainly doesn’t start with your own accord. It starts with a step of faith.

 

And this step of faith comes with a call that should silence our fears and awaken our longing to do incredible things with the help of God: “Take courage! It is I. Do not be afraid” (Matthew 14:27).

 

There was one disciple whose awe did not leave Him in utter terror. After hearing the voice of His savior, Peter, who was notoriously impulsive, cries out, “Lord, if it is you, tell me to come to you on the water” (Matthew 14:28). Some may see this as a lack of faith on Peter’s part. But I see it as the complete opposite. How many of us are so desperate to behold the face of God that we want to be called out over deep, churning waters? How many of us truly believe that He will sustain us even in our most meager attempts to step out in unfaltering trust? How many of us are content to sit idly in the boat and wait for the storm to die down and for the skies to clear? We were not created for mediocrity. We were not created for the boat.

 

“Come,” Jesus replied, beckoning Peter into the turbulent tempest.

 

We were created for the hard places, for the hard times. For the places where all reasonable odds fight against us and the biting winds do not blow in our favor. Fortunately, our creator knows how daunting these places can be and He refuses to let us sink. Because when we begin to waver in our doubt and trepidation, He catches us in His powerful grasp and places our trembling feet back on top of the foamy gray waters. When we don’t know whether to press on towards the shore or farther out into uncharted waters, He allows us to simply press on towards Him.

When it comes down to it, that’s what I think walking on water is all about. It’s about pressing on in unshakable faith, even when the skies are black with no hope of brightening, the waves are towering with no hopes of receding, and the winds are fierce with no hope of relenting. It’s about being so desperate to know God and make Him known that we follow His call wherever it may lead. It’s about earnestly believing the words of Isaiah 43:2: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.” 

                                                                    

     

 

It’s a concept that’s beautiful to believe, but much more difficult to apply. Maybe you’ve been clinging desperately to the side of the boat for as long as you can remember, feeling like an outsider to those inside. Simply let go and stand in the loving embraces of God for the first time. Or maybe you’ve been sitting comfortably in the boat for quite some time because you’re happy to confine your relationship with God into a “Don’t drink, smoke, or, swear,” religion, but it’s stopped there. It hasn’t been radical, and it hasn’t blown your mind. Please look at the possibilities out there. There’s an entire ocean longing for your footprints. Or perhaps you’ve timidly placed your toes in the water, and you know that you’re searching for more. Take that step of faith and allow God to use you to do big things- really big things- like feeding the hungry and clothing the poor. Your faith will be honored, I promise. And if you feel like you’re already treading the troubled ocean waters, but you’re sinking, you’re not. You are not alone out there. The God of the universe is standing right there with you, smiling down on you as the frigid waters crash on your face. Keep fighting. Or better yet, allow God to keep fighting for you. You are out there for a reason, and you never know the feet that may be soon to follow.

 

           Whoever you are, and wherever you are, I hope you are as astounded by the mystery of the ocean as I am. I hope you know that God’s love and grace are deeper than the massive ocean He has placed you in. I hope you know that as you weather the storms of life, the conditions will always change, but some things are constant. And I hope you remember this: If God can hold each grain of sand in the palm of His hand without letting even one slip away, He can hold on to you as you defy the limits of mediocrity and learn to walk on water. 

* For all of you music gurus out there, one of my favorite worship songs fits this post perfectly. It's called "Oceans" by Hillsong, and you can listen to it here! (:

Yoked

"For the one who was a slave when he was called to faith in the Lord is the Lord's freed person; similarly, the one who was free when called is Christ's slave." ~ 1 Corinthians 7:22

 

 

I have a confession. It’s really scandalous, so brace yourself. Are you ready? Okay, here it is: Sometimes, the bible confuses me. Reading it can be kind of like trying to put a puzzle together without all of the right pieces, or like trying to understand theoretical physics without even knowing how to add. And it’s not just the lofty Old Testament passages where so-and-so begat so-and-so, or the sweeping narratives of fiery wars, or the poignant parables laced with profound spiritual undertones. It can be as simple as one word, one word that stares up at me from the flimsy pages of my tattered bible and eats away at my soul.

            This is especially true in the letters of Paul, who time and time again refers to himself as a slave of Jesus Christ. A slave. Slave- there’s the word. The word that I wrestle with endlessly until I can manage to muster some kind of shoddy explanation for its use. My finite mind shoots out all kinds of objections, as if any of them were really worthy. But wait, I thought slavery was bad? But wait, I thought Jesus said He came to set me free? But wait, I don’t have time to be a slave; I am my own master, gosh dang it! The list goes on and on. Surely, Paul was just exaggerating. I don’t really have to be a slave to anyone. I can take all of the parts of Christianity that make me feel good, like a loving, caring God and the promise of eternal life without having to surrender anything in return. Right? Right!?!?

            So . . . what does it mean? To be a slave to Christ? And what’s the alternative? Because at the end of the day, isn’t everyone a slave to something? To fear? To pride? To despair? To physical pleasures that will only pass away with time? To feeble human volition? (I could  do this all day, mostly because I’ve been enslaved to all of these things, and many more, at some point or another.)

            But at first, the fact that everyone’s hypothetically enslaved to something doesn’t make being enslaved to Christ any more appealing. It raises all sorts of complicated theological questions about free will. “Great. So God just made me so that I can be His slave. And if I choose not to be His slave, then I’m going to be in bondage to something else anyway. Some God.” We begin to look at God as a tyrant who wants to make us His well-behaved robots- or else. He wants to shatter all of our hopes of happiness, forbid us from doing the things we love, and dictate even the most meticulous aspects of our lives with a caustic bolt of lightning. Do you want anything to do with this God? Because I sure don’t.

            This conception of God may be common, but is it realistic? Let’s take a look at the closest thing to God humanity has ever known- the divine living in flesh and walking among men. Jesus was not a tyrant. At least not when He said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Matthew 19:14). He was meek. Let’s not forget the countless occasions in which He healed the hopelessly ill, and clothed the hopelessly poor. He was abundant in grace.  And what about the time he defended the destitute adulteress as the ravenous Pharisees longed to stone her? He reprimanded them, saying, “Let he among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone” (John 8:7). He was gentle; he was merciful. He let the woman go; he set her free. And as he hung in agony on the cross? He shattered the strongholds of sin and liberated humanity from the wages of sin- death. He took our death upon Himself, but three days later he triumphed over it like no one else ever could. As we look at this portrait, we start to see that being a slave to Christ isn’t so much about dreadful submission to an oppressive authority. It’s about being yoked to His character- to love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control. It’s about abandoning the trials and temptations that hinder us so that we might be made perfect in love. Yes, sometimes it requires difficult sacrifices. But compared to the alternatives, the yoke is easy, and the burden is light.

            And in our slavery lies the thing that awakens the hopes of the distressed soul: redemption. The bible uses several words to describe this precious entity, one being agorazo, which literally translated means “To purchase in the marketplace.” In biblical times, it frequently alluded to the purchase of a slave. In biblical context, however, it means that Christ purchased us through His precious blood. Purchased us from bondage of sin, for Himself. To Himself. To His character. Not because He is a ruthless authoritarian. But because we are His beloved children, and He wants to hold us in His embrace. He does not want to shatter our hopes of happiness; we wants to fill us with the hope of true happiness. He does not want to forbid us from doing the things we love; He wants to protect us from harm, and teach us to love the things that are best for us. He does not want to dictate the most meticulous aspects of our lives with a caustic bolt of lightning; He wants to permeate them with a raging fire of love.

            When I look at it this way, the pieces of the puzzle begin to come together. (I still have absolutely no understanding of theoretical physics.) The word slave no longer burns a hole in my heart. It gazes at me with eyes that are somehow compassionate and speaks into  me with a sense of peace.

                                                                  

           And so I let go. I stop making excuses; I am glad to let it happen. I flee from my temporary carnal liberty to complete bondage in Christ, and to Christ. I get on my knees and say, “Take me, all of me. I am yours. I am your slave, no matter the cost.” He reaches out and takes my wrist, and binds it to His, His which is pierced with scars that were meant for mine. I am no longer bound to my fear, my pride, or my despair. I am bound to the trust that He will purify me with His grace. I am yoked, for today, for tomorrow, and forevermore.

                                                                   

           
           It is in my slavery that I find freedom.

A Chain Reaction

        “Compassion is the greatest form of love that humans have to offer.” These words were breathed by Rachel Scott, the first student brutalized in the Columbine High School shootings of April 1999. And she wasn’t kidding. In fact, the biblical Greek word for compassion is Splagcnizomai, meaning “moved from the inward parts.” An authentic act of compassion comes from the center of who you are, from a radically changed heart. I think that this is what makes compassion so special. It isn’t superficial or self-seeking. It’s an utter outpour of overflowing joy and grace from the bottom of your heart. Like a wildfire, it consumes everything in its path, from blades of grass to lofty trees. Like a river, it cleanses and rejuvenates everything it washes over, from grains of sand to cutting stones. Even when its effects are not automatic, compassion is unstoppable. It’s a chain reaction.

                                                                   

                                                                     

 

        I wish I could say that compassion is the empowering force behind everything I do. But unfortunately, it’s not. I’m a selfish, imperfect human. It is, however, my ultimate goal. I want to live my life knowing that I have loved people from a movement of the inward self. When I leave this Earth one day, hopefully many, many years from now, I want people to look back on my life and say, “Wow. That girl’s life was changed from the inside out. And it was really evident in the way she treated those around her, from her closest friends to her most relentless persecutors.” And ultimately, I want them to be pointed to the consummate act of compassion that has changed me so deeply- the display of undeserved love on the cross that has given me the power to live freely.

 

            If untainted compassion is the goal towards which we strive, we must not attempt to change, but we must allow ourselves to be changed. If you never remember another bible verse in your life, please remember this one: (It’s short, I promise.) “We love because He first loved us” (1 John 4:19). We were loved when we were unlovable, we are loved when we are unlovable, and we will be loved no matter how unlovable we become. This kind of incredible love shouldn’t just give us a warm fuzzy feeling. It shouldn’t just send us to a pew each Sunday or compel us to recite a prayer before we eat. It should swell inside of us like a storm cloud waiting to burst. It should burst. It should hit us like a hurricane that destroys what was never built to stand. When this mighty hurricane has come through, we should not be the same. We should stand on a new foundation of hope, faith, and love. (You get a gold star if you can guess which of these three is the greatest.) And this foundation should become the center of who we are, the root of our Splagcnizomai. Our compassion.

 

            Now that I’ve made everything sound all beautiful and poetic, I’ll let you in on a little truth: being compassionate is not easy. Having compassion is one thing. Displaying it is another. Displaying it when it is not reciprocated makes it even harder. Nothing kills me more than extending my hand to someone I love and watching them turn away. That hurts. So much. (But then I think about how God feels when I decide that I actually have life all figured out and I’m just going to put Him in a neat little box on my bedroom shelf because I can totally do this on my own.) There are days when I feel so burned out because I’m doing everything in my human power to make the world a more positive place, but then torrents of negativity overwhelm me. I come to the conclusion that I should just give in and give up. I’m too young to change the world, anyway. And being nice is overrated. I should just focus on myself and let everyone else solve their own problems. But then, the seed of compassion planted deep within my soul pokes its head out from the darkened soil. I see the suffering and brokenness around me. I realize that hatred and deceit will not fix anything. Nor will the fear of going out and making a difference. Only compassion. Only love gets the last word in the end. So by the grace of God, I muster up all the strength I have left and meditate on the words of Hebrews 6:10: “For God is not unjust; he will not forget your work and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them.” And honestly, I find myself a little bit addicted to loving people and all the pain it inflicts. Every once in a blue moon, I see the chain reaction working like dominoes; each one falls down in surrender to a force greater than itself, with much credit to the domino behind it.

 

            As you continue on your journey, let me leave you with a few last words from Rachel Scott: “I have this theory, that if one person can go out of their way to show compassion, a chain reaction will begin of the same.”

 

            Don’t be afraid. This kind of chain reaction has the power to change the world. But will it change you?