Empty

If thou could'st empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,
And say, 'This is not dead',
And fill thee with Himself instead.

But thou art all replete with very thou
And hast such shrewd activity,
That when He comes, He says, 'This is enow
Unto itself - 'twere better let it be,
It is so small and full, there is no room for Me.

-Sir Thomas Browne

This is one of my favorite poems, and it seems I come back to it in every new season of life. I know it's not my first time writing about it on this blog.

The past three weeks have been a process of emptying, or maybe more of being emptied by my circumstances. I came into our mini-outreach (the most taxing time yet on the DTS) already discouraged and drained of all of my resources (I thought). As the days continued on, I would find some small, untouched resource and use that, waking up each morning feeling like I had even less to offer than I had the day before.

But here's the thing. It's a little like cleaning, I think. As long as the room is still full of stuff all over, there's a limited amount of cleaning that can happen. You can sweep, maybe mop, dust a little, but you know you're just scratching the surface. If you put everything away and maybe scoot the furniture around, you can get a pretty good cleaning done, but the room is still the same and you know there's some grime sticking to the bottoms and backs of things. But when you take everything out, empty the furniture and move it, bring the room back to the empty shell it was when it started, potential happens. You also, unfortunately, are forced to remember where you've been using furniture to cover holes in the wall and mismatched patches where you ran out of the right paint.

So that's been me. Every day, a little less furniture, a little less stuff, a little less "me". Every day, a deeper cleaning, a hollower chest, a longer time waiting in my quiet time with the Lord. ("No, seriously, God. I actually CAN'T do this day unless You do it for me."). And every day, more freedom, more potential, deeper peace when that potential is filled by the rushing in of His Spirit and the miracle of His using my empty shell.

It's hard, and I'll be honest when I say I'm praying that it's only a season, but it's worth it. Go deeper, get lower, let Him root it all out, and find out what real fullness feels like.

The Restoration of Peter

"There's nothing you can do to make God love you more, and there's nothing you can do to make Him love you less. He loves you because He loves you, because He loves you, because He loves you, because He loves you, because He loves you, because He loves you, because He loves you, because He loves you, because that is what He is like." -Jonathan David Helser

Peter is a simple fisherman, going through his daily routine. Jesus finds him where he is and changes the course of his life by calling him: "Follow me."

Peter walks through three years with Jesus, seeing the miracles, the kindness, the power, the authority, the humility, the meekness, the perfectness of Him.

Jesus humbles Himself before Peter, sharing a meal with him, washing His feet, spending time with him.

Jesus predicts His death, and Peter vows his allegiance, promises his faithfulness to the very end. Jesus predicts Peter's denial in triplicate that very night.

The guards come for Jesus, and Peter draws a sword and attacks in violence and emotion-- still dedicated to Jesus. Jesus sheathes the sword and goes peacefully with the men.

As Jesus is beaten, mocked, tortured, Peter warms himself by the fire. But his heart is cooling. "I wasn't with Him. (One.) I don't know Him. (Two.) I swear to God I've never even met the man! (Three.)"

The rooster crows, Peter remembers, and his heart breaks.

The next day, Jesus dies. Peter never had an opportunity to make it right.

When the news of the resurrection comes, Peter's heart leaps and then crashes. Jesus is alive, but I've ruined my chance. Peter goes back to fishing.

Jesus finds Peter where he is. He joins him in what he's doing. He cooks him breakfast. And then He pulls him aside.

"Peter, do you love me?" "You know I love you." (One.)
"Peter, do you love me?" "You know I love you." (Two.)
"Peter, do you love me?" "Lord, You know all things; You know I love You!" (Three.)

Jesus changes the course of his life by calling him again: "Follow me." 

You cannot fall beyond the reach of God's love and restoration. You cannot lose His call on your life. He is the father of the prodigal son, He is the God of Romans 8:38-39, and there is nothing and no one that can separate you from His love. Not even you.

White

Hey kids, I'm white. I'm English, Welsh, Scottish, German... really white. Maybe in the States I pride myself on the ability to develop a nice tan with little effort, but let's face it: I'm white, and will always be white.

Here's an excerpt from an email to my parents this last week:

The last few weeks have been a reality check about the very real difficulties of serving here as a white person. It's the first time my race has been something I'm forced to think about every single day, the first time being white has limited me and put me in danger, the first time I've been so aware of prejudices and stereotypes based on my skin color. It's a heavy thing, especially realizing that this is the reality of life for many of my friends in the States, and that I've been privileged never to experience it.

I will always stand out. Even if I were to live in this Walla-Walla-sized town my entire life, do all my shopping at the market, make close friendships with the locals, I would still walk down the street to a chorus of "mzungu, mzungu!" (white person, white person) every day, still pay twice as much for everything, still be a target for theft, still get lied to about everything by people looking for a soft heart and deep pockets... Even if I learn the language, the culture, adapt the style of dress, I will always be the "other" here, and that is hard.

On a somewhat more temporary note, it's been a humbling thing to find that the skills I've developed and valued so much in the States don't translate here. I'm not able to be on the worship team because all of the songs are in Swahili or Luganda, and the words are made up as they go along. My music is appreciated, but as a novelty, not as a means of deep community and fellowship as it has been.

When I go to communicate, I have to simplify my language so much to traverse the language and dialect barriers (not to mention managing completely different cultural contexts) that it's hard for me to express anything deeper than a surface-level idea. It's hard to be going through so much transition and not to be able to express what I'm feeling to the people around me. And it's hard to feel like a leader in our class, which is a position I'm in given my age and life experience compared to many of the others, when any time I speak in class, I'm met by blank stares. It seems like it doesn't matter how much I simplify and slow down, the response is generally an apologetic smile and "I'm sorry, I'm not sure we caught that."

In other words, I feel limited and sometimes even useless because of my race and cultural background, and that's a hard pill to swallow. I know I'm called here, but will I always be such an outsider?

And an excerpt from my dad's response: 

It's great to hear your thoughts and reflections-- even if they're not all pleasant. Which of course is what you'd expect, even hope for really, in the situation you've chosen... It's not supposed to be fun, only interesting.... Which doesn't preclude fun of course, and what is fun anyway?

But your realism is good to hear. The question is can you still be helpful even given all the barriers: racial, language, cultural? I'll bet the answer is at least kinda yes. And if so, what's the best way to be helpful? Do the folks (white, that is) eventually find that they can, if not fit in, at least work effectively as the outsiders they'll always be? What are the best skills to cultivate in order to be helpful?

Hopefully having a purpose can give you the occasional shot of enough energy to keep it positive. It's not about fun. But that's never been your style anyway.

Anyway no real words of wisdom here, just perseverance. You may ultimately decide the culture gap is too big, but in retrospect this is bound to be a giant life event no matter what you decide about how productive it is. I'm sympathizing here big time, but I'm jealous big time too. You're going for it. Life is too short not to, and so many folks don't realize that. There are a lot of things I'd like to go back and have another shot at-- you're in the middle of one of them. So I'm sure proud of what you're stuck in the middle of, no matter what you decide to do with it.

He says "no real wisdom here," but I beg to differ. I'm sharing both of these because I think this is such a common experience. In my words, maybe you can find something that resonates with your own feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, and frustration. And in my dad's, maybe you'll find just enough encouragement and perspective to keep you going-- I know I did.