Are We Listening?

Do you think it’s harder for us, here in America, to hear the voice of God? Do you think, in all our busyness, in all our running from here to there, our chasing success and comfort, that we miss out on witnessing God move?

Sometimes I wonder.

Jesus came to earth and flipped the world on its head. The ultimate King, the Lord of Lords, the Creator of the Universe, all authority and dominion are his – yet he comes to earth as a man and washes the disciples’ feet. He saves a prostitute from stoning. He touches lepers. He ministers to the lowly. He uses the despised things of this world to glorify his name. Like an executioner’s cross to bring salvation to the world.

Then Paul adds to the confusion by saying, “For when I am weak, then I am strong.” It makes no sense. Not in our world’s economy. How can I be strong when I’m weak?

This reminds me of Nairobi, Kenya. More specifically Kibera – the biggest slum in sub-Sahara Africa. I walked the streets of that place. The stench was unbearable. Imagine standing in the foulest of porta-potties. Imagine tin shacks crammed so tightly together they’re practically stacked on top of one another. Imagine streams of human excrement flowing past front doors, sometimes through houses.

I was there. A few years ago. Eager to offer encouragement and pray for these people who so obviously needed it. Only when I got there, I couldn’t think straight. We went into this woman’s home. A woman sick with HIV. A woman trying to raise six children in a tiny shack, three of whom were not her own, but her dead sister’s. I sat inside her home. Cramped. Hot. Uncomfortable. Craving America. Craving the comfort and peace of the familiar. And then something pretty unbelievable happened.

This woman started talking. Words poured out of her mouth. Words about Jesus, her redeemer and savior. She was positively glowing. I remember sitting there, tears streaming down my face, because this woman – this lowly woman – was encouraging me.

I think it’s so easy for us, here in America, to “do it on our own”. Who needs God when we have a roof over our head? Who needs God when we have jobs that pay the bills? Who needs God when we have cable, high-speed Internet, fast cars, recycling bins, comfortable beds, doctors, medicine, and plastic surgery?

God’s voice is so muted here. Not because He lacks power. But because we’re too busy and comfortable to stop and listen. But in Africa? In places like that woman’s filthy shack? God’s voice shouts. It shakes the walls with power and might. And I see with clarity His hand moving. Working miracles. Even now.

I think there is a special blessing for that woman living in Africa. She knew, with absolute assurance, that Jesus was enough. That He was all she needed. Of course she knew. Because Jesus was all she had.

In her weakness, God revealed His perfect strength. And all of a sudden, Paul’s words make sense.

Question to Ponder: Are you listening?removetweetmeme

Entrenched in Place

I’m no Jewish queen. And I have no people to save from the hand of death. But I still resonate with the words Mordecai spoke to Esther all those years ago, when God entrusted her with a great and terrifying task.

“For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place….And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?”
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For such a time as this.
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Those words hold such power. Such meaning. They bring such a sense of purpose to my helter-skelter existence. Sure, the Bible wasn’t written to me, but it was written for me. For all of us. And so were the words of Mordecai.
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As a writer, I plunk my characters into a specific setting. Into a specific time and place. I don’t choose randomly. I consider my character – her strengths, her weaknesses, the gifts I’ve given her. I consider what I want to accomplish through my character. Then I choose accordingly. I choose the perfect time, the perfect place, the perfect circumstances and set my character down. My choices are far from random. Far from accidental. They are very strategic.
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And I’m just a writer.
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Now imagine God, the Author of our souls, who penned the universe and all who inhabit it. God knows us better than any writer could know his characters. He’s fashioned us. He’s considered our uniqueness. Considered what He wants to accomplish through us. And He chooses accordingly. Strategically.
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I’m not living in the 21st century, in Eastern Iowa, going to a particular church, living with a particular man, raising a particular son, teaching a particular group of students, and writing particular stories….all by random chance. God knows. He’s placed me here. In this setting. On purpose.
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And I hear Mordecai whisper those words. “For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverence will arise from another….” I can say yes and experience the wonder of being used by an almighty God, or I can say no and miss out. The wonder can fall to another.
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Sometimes I say no. Not intentionally. Not rebelliously. But I say no. I turn a deaf ear to God and let the megaphone of discontentment blare in my ears. Why can’t we have enough money so I can stay home? So-and-so gets to stay home with her kids. Man, my life would be so much easier if I could just stay home. Or, why can’t I be published already? So-and-so is published. I bet life would be easier if I were published.
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Satan speaks to our discontentment. He fires the flame into something greater. Something insidious. Until we forget God has us exactly where He has us for a reason. For a purpose. For such a time as this.
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Questions to Ponder: What setting are you living in? Where does God have you? What might His purpose be for having you there?

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Embracing Discomfort

Like most people, I tend to avoid discomfort. I tend to wrap the whole concept in a package of negativity. But maybe discomfort’s not such a bad thing. Maybe it’s a good thing. Especially if it drives us to action, or at least to an uneasy contemplation.

Here’s the thing. I’m a people-pleaser.

On the surface, it means I don’t want to make anybody uncomfortable or unhappy. I often blame my hesitancy to share my faith on this people-pleasing tendency of mine. Heaven forbid anybody feels weird, or uncomfortable, around me.

The truth?

People-pleasing’s really not about how other people feel. It’s about me. I’m the one who doesn’t want to feel uncomfortable. I’m the one who doesn’t want to feel unhappy.

This attribute leaks into my writing. I’m inclined to wrap each chapter in a nice pretty bow, release all the tension so the reader (scratch that….the writer) can stop feeling uncomfortable.

All of us hate to feel uncomfortable.

That’s the key. The ticket. The truth to embrace. In life and in fiction. I need to relish the discomfort. Bask in it. Let it soak and settle until people squirm and scramble to recapture a sense of peace.

In life, that peace won’t come until you’re in the arms of Jesus. In fiction, it won’t (or shouldn’t) come until you reach the end of the book. Comfort at the cost of hell, comfort at the cost of putting the novel back on the nightstand, isn’t comfort at all. I need to stop making people comfortable.

Just think how different we’d all write, how we’d all live, if we embraced discomfort.

Questions to Ponder: How differently would you live if you embraced discomfort?

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